


Clowntober

by Fox_Salz



Category: Hiveswap, Homestuck
Genre: Age Difference, Age Play, Ancestors with Pre-Scratch Names, Anesthesia, Animal Play, Ashen Romance | Auspistice, Beforus (Homestuck), Beforus Culling (Homestuck), Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Body Worship, Bodyswap, Branding, Bruises, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Choking, Church Sex, Cloaca, Clothed Sex, Codpieces, Dream Bubble Sex (Homestuck), Drone Season, Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, FLARP, Faygo (Homestuck), Feeding, Fish Puns, God Tier (Homestuck), Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Helmstrolls, Human Furniture, Impact Play, Interspecies Relationship(s), Interspecies Sex, Kinktober, Kinktober 2020, Kinktoberstuck, M/M, Marks, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Medical Kink, Moirails With Pails, Multi, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Pampering, Praise Kink, Puns & Word Play, Rape/Non-con Elements, Religion Kink, Restraints, Rough Sex, Self-cest, Sensory Deprivation, Shedding, Size Difference, Spanking, Temporary Character Death, Tentacles, Threesome - F/M/M, Tickling, Voyeurism, Water Sex, hierophilia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:21:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 23,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26764237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fox_Salz/pseuds/Fox_Salz
Summary: A month of kinktoberstuck, all centered around clowns ;o)1. Gamzee/Eridan/Feferi2. GHB/Mothergrub3. Marvus/Equius4. GHB/Gamzee5. Gam/Caliborn6. GHB/Equius7. GHB & Marvus8. Marvus/Cronus9. Gamzee/Nannasprite10. Gam/Horrorterrors11. Kurloz x212. GHB/Darkleer13. GHB/Chahut14. GHB/Psiioniic/Condesce15. Kurloz/Cronus16. Chahut/Porrim17. Kurloz/Meulin18. GHB/Summoner19. Gamzee/Karkat20. Chahut/Marvus21. Gamzee/Equius22. GHB/Feferi23. Gamzee/Rose/Terezi24. Kurloz/The Codpiece25. Gamzee/Nepeta
Relationships: Caliborn/Gamzee Makara, Chahut Maenad/Marvus Xoloto, Chahut Maenad/Porrim Maryam, Codpiece/Kurloz Makara, Cronus Ampora/Kurloz Makara, Cronus Ampora/Marvus Xoloto, Darkleer/Grand Highblood (Homestuck), Eridan Ampora/Gamzee Makara/Feferi Peixes, Gamzee Makara/Equius Zahhak, Gamzee Makara/Karkat Vantas, Gamzee Makara/Nannasprite, Grand Highblood & Marvus Xoloto, Grand Highblood/Chahut Maenad, Grand Highblood/Equius Zahhak, Grand Highblood/Feferi Peixes, Grand Highblood/Gamzee Makara, Grand Highblood/Mother Grub, Grand Highblood/The Summoner (Homestuck), Horrorterrors/Gamzee Makara, Kurloz Makara/Kurloz Makara, Marvus Xoloto/Equius Zahhak, Meulin Leijon/Kurloz Makara, Nepeta Leijon/Gamzee Makara, Rose Lalonde/Gamzee Makara/Terezi Pyrope, The Condesce/Grand Highblood/The Psiioniic | The Helmsman
Comments: 51
Kudos: 95





	1. Miracles In The Water

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to another October full of kinky HS porn! Last year it was all about Cronus and Dualscar, this year it's clowns. 
> 
> This year I'm actually working off a list I actually assembled, [with a specific Homestuck theme](https://masked-fox-creations.tumblr.com/post/630250039652057090/masked-fox-creations-unsatisfied-with-any-other), and have been calling kinktoberstuck lol. 
> 
> Hilariously I've started out like I did last year with a threesome. 
> 
> **Bathing/Water** | **Pailing Without Buckets** | Macro/Micro | Nipple/Grubscar Play |

You can see Fefsis slinking through the water beneath you. Naked as the day she hatched, glorious ass you could slam a hymn down about on full display. She swims around you, brushing against your legs, close enough to get your fronds on. You just let her be, content to gaze at her with eager oculars and take it all in.

Eribro’s head bobs just a few feet away, chin grazing the water. Motherfucker got his shark eyes up and trained on you like you’re his goddamn prey, up and ready to strike the second you make a move he don’t like or if he just up and feels like it.

A motherfucker can get down with that.

Catching his peepers straight on, you hold his gaze as you dip a bony hand into the water, fingers brushing along Fefsis’ spine. His eyes narrow. Your bulge starts peeking out its sheath.

Little clownette is all eager to get its play on. Ain’t the only one.

Fefsis emerges from the water like a jumping fish, splashing you and Eribro and making him sputter. You just match her wild grin.

“Clamsea! I’m so excited you came to swim with us.”

“Hell yeah, fishy mama, I’m always down for a little skinny dipping.”

“I sea you’re reelly into it,” she chuckles, reaching out and groping your bulge. It slithers out a little further, all encouraged, and tries tangling around her pretty fingers. Your grin only widens.

A scoff grabs both your attention and you turn to Eribro. He emerges from the water, droplets like little individual miracles caressing his skin.

“You’re both scandalous, out here wwhere anyone could happen by and see you naked.”

“You’re here too,” Fefsis points out. Gets him to clam up.

You and Fefsis share a look, the same idea running through your pans. In synch you dip down into the water and rush towards him, circling him so he has no chance of escape. He eyes you both warily.

A motherfucker didn’t deign to get undressed with y’all so you reach out and tug on his waistband teasingly. He bats at your hand only to yelp as Fefsis sneaks her own up his shirt. Got a big ole grin on her face as he glares down all disapproving like at her.

“Don’t drag me into your debauchery, I’m merely here to make sure you twwo don’t do anythin’ stupid.”

“Aw, But ain’t a motherfucking thing I do you don’t think is stupid.”

“You’vve set a precedent.”

“Don’t be rude, Erifin,” Fefsis chides, doing something with her hands that has him squirming around. “Come eelax with us! You shore do need it.”

“Fef! It’s fine if Gam has no shame, but you need to act more dignified.”

Suddenly she sighs, letting go of him.

“You’re probubbly right.”

She tosses you a wink which you return. Fishy brother all caught up in faux victory to pay you any mind. While he’s saying something that ain’t got any interest of yours, she and you inch closer, hand slowly raising. Then you both pull him under.

Eribro lets out a squawk that’s suffocated by the water. He flails around but you grab his pointing stubs and hold him steady while Fefsis works his clothes off. Ain’t a motherfucker hypocritical, all getting his admonishment on at you two when apparently he was hiding a wiggly?

Little heiress gives a wide ass grin that shows off all her pretty sharp pearls. Can’t help giving your own lazy grin while you watch Eribro glower, cheeks puffed out in petulance and arms crossed, naked as you now.

His clothes float up the surface. He watches them for a moment, sulking.

Since you ain’t got no working gills, you have to bob up right beside the soaked clothes. You grin and poke at his long scarf. A second later Eribro pops up to slap your hand away.

“You’re both uncouth savvages,” he snaps, and you ain’t gonna deny what’s the Messiah’s honest truth.

Fefsis peeks out of the water. Draws Eribro and yours attention, and when you both turn she spits a stream of water into his face. Sputters all undignified and indignant, hands flailing in a futile attempt to stop the spray. Ain’t doing a goddamn thing but encouraging her.

“You need to eelax, Erifin!” she declares once she’s done soaked him good.

“And howw could I possibly do that?” he huffs back. Real cute, that little pout.

“Whale, I’m shore Clamsea and I can kelp.”

“I’m all down to help my fishy bro get his chill on.”

“You are both despicable.”

He glares between you two as y’all just press cheeks together, giving him a downright pleading look. Finally a motherfucker relents.

“Fine. But I refuse not to complain the wwhole time.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything less, motherfucker.”

Fefsis is all a blur of delight as she rushes to Eribro and throws her arms around him, all those thick muscles enveloping the more slender motherfucker. Who is all up and blushing, ain’t that all sorts of fucking adorable?

Then he squawks as she settles behind him, hands holding his hips. You swim closer, holding Eribro’s gaze as you run a hand up his shark smooth chest. You’re so close that your bulge rubs eagerly up against his sheath like a motherfucker is knocking to see if his can come out and play.

It does after a little while and a little bit of cajoling. Fefsis got right down to teasing him and so you’d done the same, motherfucker too pretty to just not touch. She’d nibbled on his fins, dragged fingers along his bare skin leaving miraculous trails of violet in their wake; you’d groped some choice grubscars, licked water from his gills. Seems like both of you wanna keep him stimulated real good so he can’t tell which part of him is underwater.

Now you can feel as his bulge slithers out and around yours, excited motherfuckers all tangling up. A bitchtits fucking feeling, that’s for sure, and ain’t no motherfucker who could resist groaning against his gills.

“Sea?” Fefsis whispers against a fin. “Minnow we could get you to eelax. We mako a good team.”

“Oh, stop glubbin’ and get on wwith it.”

Eribro’s all out of breath; you’re impressed he could manage a full sentence. Guess it means you ain’t working hard enough, then. Best rectify that.

Honking, you find his shoulder and bite down. Sound he makes gets your bulge squeezing tight around his. Practically whimpers as you lick at the marks you done left.

Fefsis’ bulge slips between his thighs. It slaps against your intertwined bulges before finding his nook and making itself right at hive. You ain’t sure which one you envy more, but damn if you ain’t satisfied with your current place. A sliver of the Dark Carnival if you ever felt it.

“Fef!”

“Whale, you were koiplaining!”

“A motherfuck ain’t now,” you gleefully point put, sharing a grin with this wicked sis.

Y’all really get into it now. For all his reluctance Eribro is eating up this attention, trilling and keening and letting you two fuck him. Fefsis seems like she’s got a damn good idea what he all likes, holding his hips steady and rocking hard against him. You just grind lazily, not as familiar with how to move in the water. Least your bulges ain’t hindered none as they undulate together. You just stick to what you know like massaging his grubscars and getting your mouth real acquainted with any patch of bare skin you can sink your teeth into.

Eribro pails first. Shivers in your hold, and you can feel it through your bulge. It’s enough to make a motherfucker follow suit. What can you say—you’re a pretty easy guy.

Fefsis teases you both as she picks up speed, nipping at Eribro. You can see where her fingers done dug into his abdomen, drawing blood.

While you idly imagine painting with it, Fefsis finally pails with a cry right in his auditory clots, making his fins flick. She lets out a breathy giggle as she slumps against him, chin in the crook of his neck right beside a particularly large mark already promising to bruise.

Slurry spreads out in the water around you. Miraculous motherfucking sight, all those bitchtits colors. Some even reaches as far as Eribro’s clothes which had up and gotten their drift on while y’all pailed. Whoops. Guess it just means you two’ll have to make it up to him later. Maybe let his bulge get friendly up in your nook. Now that’s a nice motherfucking thought.


	2. Mama Mia Here We Pail Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exhibitionism | Cum/Slurry Inflation | Humiliation | **Mothergrub**
> 
> GHB/Mothergrub

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Out of all the terrible titles I've given y'all this is the one I really feel I should apologize for lmao. Slight apology to all Mama Mia! fans.

It is that sweetest motherfucking time again, the wickedest time of the sweep. Drone Season is upon you once again, hence why a motherfucker is getting his stroll on into the brooding caverns.

Now, normal motherfuckers, the filth and scum that is those heretical warm bloods, gotta put their miracles into the glorious bucket. You, on the other motherfucking grasper, get to take yourself directly to the Messiahs’ appointed gift of divine creation.

“Hey little mama,” you greet the mothergrub that’s twice as tall and four times as long as you.

Sure, as the High motherfucking Blood, the most holy and divine of the Messiahs’ chosen people, you have every damned right to be all up in here whenever you damn please. But even more than that you just up and have a special bond with this miracle.

You run your fronds along a smooth section of her side as you walk round to her face. She nuzzles all affectionately against you and chirrs.

“Yeah, yeah, I know how long it’s been. Got a goddamn Shitshow on my graspers right now, my wicked mama. Some heretics trying and rise up, think they can overthrow our holy congregation.”

She clicks in displeasure.

“I know you got your love on for all of them you done swirled around inside you, but there’s a place for all trolls. Ain’t right to step outta that place. Gonna throw everything the Messiah’s and my Meenah done worked for. The natural motherfucking _order_.”

She trills in understanding, all pressing her face against yours like she’s shooshpapping ya. What a bitchtits sweetheart.

You laugh and let her. Makes your pusher all sorts of happy when she acts like this. Feel a little guilty, not visiting much lately. This fine lady don’t deserve that. She’s a living motherfucking miracle and should be respected as such. It’s the Messiahs’ honest truth though that you been busy clubbing unfunny heretics and snuffing out rebellious little motherfuckers. Maybe now though you can spare a few minutes for your hot mama here.

“Now I ain’t trying to make this a quick affair, my motherfucking miracle mama, but we both know I came here for an important task. Gotta do my holy duty.”

Little lady understands and ain’t got no hard feelings. If you were a common drone she’d just lay there and wait. This however is your fine ass lady, and she opens her mouth wide, baring her third oral sphincter as you pull your bulge out. Gotten yourself all excited before heading over because you’re a troll who doesn’t like to keep someone important waiting—and only two important people in your life that ain’t the Messiahs themselves.

You start stroking yourself while you hold her gaze. Those pretty black peepers don’t even blink as she watches you jerk your bulge.

In truth maybe you don’t rightly gotta do much to get yourself excited when Drone Season rolls around. Ain’t much better than this thrill to get you all worked up. Especially as your little lady chirrs encouragingly, and you can help slipping fingers unceremoniously into your wet nook. As wet as your salivating beauty before you.

If this was anyone else it’d be downright embarrassing how quick you get to the edge. She ain’t judging, though, elated at seeing the quiver of your thighs as your hands pick up speed. She can tell when you’re so _close_ , and surges forward so as to not miss any drop. Her hot breath is, not for the first time, enough to get you pailing hard. She sucks it all in, a few spindly limbs wrapping around your waist and thighs to keep you steady. What an amazing wicked mama you got here.

She chirps as she swallows up your slurry, adding it to the rest of the geneslime she’s collected so far. You get your imagine on of its track, sliding through her and swirling around with everything from the lowest of scum to your sweet Meenah. Motherfucking miraculous.

She nudges you teasingly and you pat her forehead.

“Yeah, mama, I’m good. My pan ain’t that addled yet.” You tuck things away and right your pants. “How ‘bout I stay a little while? Just ‘til the next drones get here. Ain’t no reason not to spend a little one on one time since I’m here, right?”

Delighted, she chirrs and pushes you towards a pile she’s gathered through the sweeps just for your ass. Glorious motherfucking little mama you’ve got; you sure as hell don’t deserve someone so good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you believe this pairing never existed before now? And by that I mean, you're welcome.


	3. Save a Scuttlebuggy Pail an Indigo Pretending to be a Hoofbeast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Pet Play** | Predator/Prey | **Spanking** | Cloaca

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fun part about kinktober is coming up with like the worst fucking titles lmao

Despite what Nepeta, repeatedly, accuses you of, you do not have a fetish. For clowns, anyway. It just so happens that many have certain qualities you find extremely attractive, especially in the black quadrant.

“Damn, bruh, your ass looks tasty as shizz like dis.”

Their immense lewdness, for starters.

“Y—“

A sharp slap to your behind silences you.

“Hoofbeasts ain’t big on speaking, right?”

That calm smugness is absolutely infuriating. Your bulge curls around the bow tie it’s bound in.

Marvus Xoloto is a most infuriating clown. You’d been disgusted and smitten almost at once upon meeting him for the first time, when you stepped foot onto this ship after your Ascension. Those enticing muscles, that lazy grin no matter what was happening around him, the familiar way he’d address you as though you were worthy to be acquainted personally with a clown. Unprofessional. Loathsome. Attractive. You’d been assigned to serve under him and, well. It did not take long for you to end up under him in several different ways.

Currently you are on all fours in his quarters, naked save for the luscious hoofbeast tail plug in your wastechute, the bit between your teeth where reins are equipped, and that reprehensibly unprofessional bow tie.

Another sharp strike to your rump brings your attention back to Marvus. He snickers and smacks you again. You moan despite yourself. There’s an easy strength to his strikes that make arousal pool right above your bone bulge.

“Ain’t dat more like it? Now, natural order of things not really my style, but it just works for ya LOL. I like you all silent and shizz. Less you wanna start braying.”

Though you’re somewhat muffled by the bit you still point out, “Hoofbeasts do not _bray_. Their sounds are much more dignified.”

Three quick slaps to your thighs remind you of your position. Automatically you keen, bulge twisting. There is pre-slurry dripping eagerly from your nook. You know you’re kneeling in a small puddle of your own material by now. What a excruciatingly depraved sight you must make.

Marvus gropes your sore backside and you buck back against him. He makes an appreciative sound, whistling as he grabs the plug and starts dragging it out slowly before jamming it back in. You let out a strangled grunt. More slurry drips down your legs. Darn it, you are far too aroused for any more of this clownfoolery.

As though he can read your mind and wants to tease your desires, Marvus drags a hand along your bare skin as he walks around to your front.

“Seems like dis pony’s ready to ride. Dat what you want, mang? My bulge in dat hella pretty blue nook a yours?”

A high, pleading sound escapes you. His grin is so wide it splits his face.

“I’m always willing to help out a fan.”

Despicable. He’s so _despicable_ —but he’s walking back behind you and you can hear the rustle of clothes as his pants lower. Then his hands grip your hips as his cold bulge slithers between your thighs. You shudder in relief and delight as he fills you up.

“LOL your nook be eating me like a plant dat wants some lone wiggler. Comfy, pony?”

You make a sound that could almost be described as a bray. He laughs and pounds into you before rocking against your posterior. Every movement jostles the plug.

It doesn’t at all take you long to pail, having been worked up for quite some time. You whimper, slurry coating your legs and the floor beneath you. Marvus, the degenerate clown, refused to use a bucket. Whether because he enjoys irking you or is just use to large messes you aren’t sure. Either way it’s absolutely scandalous. You hate him so much.

Your arms are shaking and you have to lower yourself down on your elbows or else risk collapsing altogether. Slurry has spread this far, you note idly. At least Marvus keeps your hindquarters in place. You press your cheek to the floor, ignoring your sticky geneslime, and wait for Marvus to finish.

You drift off a moment in the haze of bliss, only coming back to when your seedflaps start sucking up the slurry suddenly filling your nook.

After he pulls out he scoops you up into his arms and grins down at you.

“Not bad, fam. Let’s have a shower then get our rest on.”

You chirp in response, too flustered for words. He’s so _strong_.

“Should keep dat bow tie on. Looks good on you.”

God he’s despicable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three in a row where there had previously been no works for those pairings, nice. That changes next time lol.


	4. Ain't No Need For the Rest of the Rainbow When All You Mother Fucking Need Is Purple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orgasm Delay/Denial | **Age Difference** | **Drone Season** | Sopor/Recupercoon Sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's right time for some ancestor/descendent action.

“Ain’t this goddam miraculous. Like a gift from the Messiah’s themselves.”

You honk noncommittal like. Ain’t really a thing you gotta say to that. Or this mother fucker in general.

At first you’d been kinda keen on up and getting a personal gander on this clown that shares a sign and caste name. Even if you knew y’all didn’t share the same views on basically anything. This mother fucker wants to paint with your wicked friends’ blood! You ain’t a believer in shit like the hemospectrum, but you ain’t gonna go parading that around. Not here, up in the big ring with the big clown himself. Nah, you’re a double motherfucking agent for Fefsis and the rebellion, getting your espionage on while pretending to be a righteous clown brother and get close to the Grand Highblood, your ancestor.

Actually right now you couldn’t be closer. You’re straddling his wide lap on the throne, staring down at the bulge squirming out of his striped pants. Just keeps coming and coming. Wicked thing is as long as he is old. Mother fucker could straight up sliver through all your pretty organs and right out your foodhole. And with this blood hungry mother fucker it just up and might.

When Drone Season started getting close and every unquadranted mother fucker was scrambling for a pailing mate, your ancestor done propositioned you. All suave as shit, calling your ass fine and saying how he’d like a go at your tight nook, show you how it’s really done. He might be a real unrighteous, nasty old man, but damn if the brother ain’t got _charm_.

His big hand pets your hair like you’re some treasured pet. Can’t help but lean into the touch, letting out a little chirp. Feels mother fucking _nice_. When was the last time someone got their touch on with you and it was this gentle? Your pan can’t conjure up a comparable memory.

Trying not to focus on that, you reach out to press your fronds all up on that bulge. He groans.

“Just like that, tiny mother fucker.”

He leans back, arms all spread out on the armrests of his throne. You know if you were all by your lonesome up on this thing you wouldn’t be able to replicate the position. Your feet would barely dangle off the side like you were still a wiggler. That’s the difference between nine sweeps and several hundred.

You got another difference in your graspers. Swear this bulge is the same size as some of your friends’ lusii. It responds to your touch, pulsating in excitement. You massage it real good, all enjoying its undulations.

“Hell yeah, little descendent, it likes you.”

His bulge slithers towards your lap, tries to get all up in your shirt and gets tangled in the material. Kurloz just gives a full bodied laugh that jostles you.

“Mother fucker wants to see your pretty self in its natural state, descendent. Let this clown help.”

You don’t put up a fuss as his big hands start pulling off your clothes. Not much to remove, and he moves you around with ease. All sorts of nice being trollhandled like this. Kinda feels like a mother fucker is taking care of you.

When you’re up and naked as the day you done hatched he lifts you up, making sure your legs are still all spread for him. Slowly his bulge slithers up and presses into your nook. You’re wet and willing, but this mother fucker is _huge_. Every single bit of your nook is being stimulated in a way that ain’t ever happened before. Kurloz just keeps pushing into you, eventually lowering you back into his lap until he’s bottomed out.

You feel hot all over, gut flipping as you pant. Your ancestor lets out a groan that echoes around the room and rings in your auditory clots. He pets your side as his head lolls back, horn scraping against the throne.

“ _Fuck_ , little descendent. Goddamn nook is all sorts of tight. Feels like a right fucking miracle.”

Feels like you’re a wiggler who ain’t pailed before. He absolutely fills you up to the brim and it doesn’t take you long to mother fucking overflow, the way every single nerve inside your nook is being stimulated at once.

Kurloz just keeps going, gripping your hip with one hand as the other grabs onto a horn. Starts bouncing you and all you can do is keen until he eventually pails hard, filling you with way more slurry than any troll could handle. Straight up feel like the Mother Grub herself.

You can’t make a move to help as he brings out a bucket and gets it awkwardly under you as he lifts with his free hand. His bulge slithers out and back into its sheath, slurry pouring out of your nook like some slurry fountain (you’re surprised he ain’t got nothing like that actually). Whine as he presses a finger up inside you to work your seedflap over, making it release all it sucked up.

Captchaloguing the bucket, he sits you back down and pulls you against his chest, one hand groping your ass while the other strokes your spine. Contentment settles over you.

“Maybe we oughta do that again, little descendent. See how many buckets we can feel with our wicked purple for the drones.” He brushes knuckles across your cheek. “Come on, this old clown’s got plenty of tricks to show you still.”

You honk, nestling against him. You’re all supposed to be keeping a close ocular on this mother fucker and you can’t think of a better way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gamzee needs love and positive affection from someone who doesn't want to paint with his friends' blood. He'll get there.


	5. Snakes Are Mother Fucking Bitchtits Actually

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Body Worship** | **Molting/Shedding** | Horn Play | Somnophilia/Sleepy Sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always meant to write gamborn because it's a good ship. Love these two mother fuckers.

You ain’t ever been the most careful mother fucker, awkward as shit and absentminded with or without sopor, but right now you’ve got your delicate on like a real gentle mother fucker.

Your fronds graze over Caliborn’s abdomen, loose skin coming away. You let it fall on the floor around you careless of where it drops since there’s so much already. Nearly done now, really, just got his leg to do. Been at this for a couple hours now, taken your time. One ‘cuz ain’t no mother fucker wanna hurt this brother, and two ‘cuz, well, you all like taking your time and enjoying his body. It’s a mother fucking sight, especially looking all new and shit. Got a different sheen to it you admire. Nice to run your nasty ass calloused hands over, nicer to feel his shiver every time.

He can do this himself no problem, a mother fucker is used to doing lots on his lonesome, but you like helping. You grin up at him which he returns with no hesitation and damn does something erupt in your pusher. You duck your head and get to working on his leg.

His gold one is bent up, the flesh one spread out so you have full access to it. You place your gangly, bony fingers at the top of his thigh and slowly peel away a large chunk of old skin. He pulls a face, all disgusted and probably tired of sitting so long to do this. Mother fucker probably ain’t all too pleased at the vulnerability, either, but at least it’s you here with him. Your hissy mother fucker don’t all care for too many people. It’s a wicked fucking honor.

You peel skin from the back of his calf and he sighs. Makes your grin widen. You get his knee, the top of his foot then bottom, and finally you move to his toes. Take your mother fucking time working them over. Sort of rub between each digit delicate like. Caliborn leans back, all up in a state of bliss. Looks fucking good like that. Wish you could make a brother relax more. Wish you could keep this going once you got the last bit of shedding skin off.

“How’s that, mother fucker?”

He wiggles his toes, considering. Gives a nod.

“Much better. Still feels like there’s something on the back of my neck, though.”

“Ain’t no problem if you turn round, pretty mother fucker.”

He lights up at that, all doing what you asked. You scoot up right behind him, looking closely. Sure enough you spot the nasty little mother fucker clinging to Calibro and grab it, ease it off and toss it aside. He sighs again, wicked tongue flicking. It stays poking out just a smidge and damn if that shit ain’t cute.

You snake your arms around his waist and pull him against your chest, kiss his fresh soft skin. Lips against his shoulder, neck, up to his jaw. He cranes his head back to give you better access and you take the mother fucking hint, kissing all up on his face.

He makes happy little sounds that ring in your auditory clots, reverberates in your pumpbiscuit. A mother fucker can’t help reaching down between his righteous thighs and finding the miracle all up in waiting. He keens and bucks against your hand as you dip a finger into his cloaca, thumb brushing against one of his hemipenes.

Your Calibro makes a little hissing sound—not of warning but enjoyment. Just like trolls got thousands of trills all different like, cherubs got a long language of hisses. It’s goddamn melodious and you love the bitchtits sounds. Can’t get enough, all glad you got to get close to Calibro and suss all the different ones out.

You pump slowly in and out of him while your other hand starts teasing a hemipenis. He whines and presses back against you, moaning your name like some sort of prayer and ain’t that all sorts of fucking ironic.

You keep on going until his first little brother pails, which ain’t long considering how sensitive he is after a shedding. You smear it around the tip, then between your fingers, bring it up to your mouth for a taste. Fucking wicked shit right here. A clown could enjoy this business all night.

“Are you really eating that? Disgusting.”

He makes the word sound reverent and you cast him a lazy grin before kissing him full on the mouth. He kisses back, but when you pull away he makes a face, tongue sticking out.

“Vile.”

“Tastes mother fucking good to me, bro.”

He shakes his head but there’s a blush on his face that’s all sorts of mother fucking adorable. You kiss him some more and start on the other hemipenis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *snek sounds*


	6. Strong and Sturdy and Stupid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Human/Troll Furniture** | Face Sitting | Temperature Play | Teeth/Claws

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen I love Equius but the title is him alright. Smart as fuck, but stupid.

You are in your rightful place, which just so happens to be exactly where you have always desired to be: serving a highblood.

_The_ Highblood.

The floor of his throne room is revolting. Blood and paint everywhere, stickiness that could be Faygo or slurry or both. Cleaning in here is forbidden as unholy—unless of course he feels like putting you in a maid outfit and making you dust and scrub while he watches. He does seem to enjoy that from time to time. Usually he’ll create extra mess just to see you bend over. Usually by self pailing. It’s an…immense pleasure of his.

Ah, immense. The perfect word to describe him. He is not regal, but he is _powerful_. And rather heavy. After all, he is centuries old. It’s only natural, just like it’s only natural you serve him however he sees fit.

Tonight he had wanted a foot rest. So, like the obedient subservient you are, you got down on all fours in front of his throne; no need to strip since he’d ordered you naked long ago. He’d hefted his bare feet up onto your posturecolumn, and here you’ve stayed for the past few hours. It is a very good thing you’re so strong or else you’d have crumpled by now. In fact, you think he must be testing your strength. You aim to not disappoint.

It’s...difficult. Humiliating, which helps your determination, yet still you’re straining. Pins and needs have spread to your knees, and the occasional finger flexing is the only thing chasing them from your hands. Every now and then he adjusts, which brings a modicum of relief. He hasn’t for a bit now, however.

Several trolls have come and gone while you’ve been like this. Young recruits who’ve stared at you in surprise, old clown veterans who either ignore you or leer as they converse with their ringleader. Even a seadweller has come by. Eridan just sneered. Hypocritical, really, considering what you’ve seen him and the Empress get up to.

Lately traffic has died down. It’s just you and the Grand Highblood now. He hasn’t said anything after he stopped grumbling blasphemous things about Her Imperial Condescension. You suppose if anyone can get away with that it would be her closest confidant and kismesis.

Of course he has not said a word to you. After all, currently you are a sturdy footstool and have been doing your job to the best of your abilities. You refuse to break, no matter how long he has you here. It is your duty and you will not shirk away.

Fresh sweat drips into your eyes. You blink it away awkwardly. Your sweat has long been added to the disgusting nature of the floor you’re on. Shamefully so has pre slurry dribbling down your thigh. Either the Grand Highblood has not noticed or decided it’s not worthy to comment on. Though usually he takes great delight in pointing out lewd things such as that, especially in front of others. With excruciating frequency and saliciousness.

Of course, he is a very busy troll. Much too busy to be paying someone as lowly as you any mind. Your knees threaten to buckle but you take a deep breath and steady yourself, reaching deep down into your core. You will not fail him.

You really are starting to tire, however. Your duty keeps you going strong. Along with the thought of the reward you’ll surely receive for being so useful to your superior. For as cruel as the Grand Highblood can be, he lavishes rewards upon those who please him greatly—which you have always aimed to do. Not to be crass, but you have certainly pleased him in a vast array of manners. This is certainly a challenge, but nothing that you can’t—

A loud honking snore interrupts your thoughts.

No. No, he couldn’t possibly be sleeping. Important figures don’t just nap in the middle of the night when they’re swamped with tasks and responsibilities. Surely you were mistaken.

Oh, no. No, those _are_ snores that rattle the room. They bounce off the colorful walls and ring in your auditory clots. The Grand Highblood is sleeping on the job while you hold up his feet.

When is his next meeting? Perhaps another hour at least, if you remember correctly. You might be here for a while.

Sweat pricks your eye. Your nook flips in wanton desire for what it knows it won’t get anytime soon.

It’s going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's fine, in a little bit Gamzee will wander in there and somehow wrangle it into a threesome. Or maybe just fuck Equius to see if he can still stay in that position during orgasm.


	7. An Intersection of Mirth and Malice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Branding** | Costumes/Uniforms | Gang Bang | SBAHJ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for some noncon stuff! Nothing sexual happens, but damn is it unpleasant for Marvus.

Aw, Shit. This ain’t the best fucking timeline, that’s for sure. Thousands of possibilities and you end up here, in a straight up biznasty torture-slash-sex dungeon with the biznastiest motherfucker in the whole Shitshow. He’s got this maniacal glee in his ganderbulbs which is a real fucking constant in every timeline ain’t no doubts there.

What did a brother do to end up here? Man, you just did your natural thing—really natural, no performance or masks or illusions. Which is how someone started seeing past the cracks. Now you’re tied the fuck up staring down the front end of hot steel. Skeet skeet fuck.

This motherfucker demanded that you prove you’re a real brother of the honk. So of course you said you would, because the second option was being culled on the spot. Ain’t fucking ideal either way, but hey at least you’ll survive.

You hope.

You had no fucking clue what proving yourself would entail until you’d been led to this dungeon. The big clown had made you strip which ain’t no thing, you’re used to adoring fans wanting your body. There were worst directions this could go. And in those directions it went when he done put your ass in chains. You were just hoping a motherfucker was a little kinky, but nah. Though he is a sadistic fuck. Soon as you were secure he brought out the steel branding stamp. Menacing motherfucker right there. You could only watch as he heated it up.

Now he’s taken it out and coming towards you, and the part of your mind that wants to protect you from what’s happening is waxing poetic about themes running through Paradox Space or some shit. You lose every thought as it comes, though, unable to tear your peepers from this nasty shit.

“A real fucking clown ain’t gonna shirk away from the honor of wearing the Messiahs permanently on their meathusk.”

“That mean you got their mark?” you quip, words tumbling out of you automatically.

His lips curl upwards as he replies, “Hell no.” Then he jabs the metal to your chest.

If you were a squishier creature like your alien buddy than you wouldn’t be conscious, that’s for sure. Pretty sure you scream when he leaves it on you for what feels hours. Each nanosecond drags. Your chest is on fire that spreads out to every nerve. Shit _hurts_. Shit hurts in a way you never fucking been hurt before, in this timeline and you’re sure any other.

The scent of your own burning flesh clouds your sniffnodes. Your vision is blurry from tears or being close to passing out you ain’t sure. Vaguely you’re aware of his chuckle. Asshole.

Finally he pulls the metal back. You slump in the chains and remember how to breathe.

As your head hangs you can see the image he’s branded you with upside down: the masks of the Messiahs. One perpetually smiling, one perpetually frowning. Hard to tell which is which, you know? All a matter of perspective. Right now you don''t care much for your POV.

You taste bile in the back of your throat.

A hand clamping you on the shoulder jostles you full bodied. You manage to lift your head enough to look at the grinning chucklefuck.

“Look at you, motherfucker! All up and still conscious. Not bad. Guess the Messiahs accept you as a real fucking clown. Good, you know how many dumb little shits would be sad if you were culled? Hate dealing with that shit. Just let a motherfucker cull who he’s gotta cull, it’s the natural order of things. Doesn’t matter now, though.”

“Dat mean you gonna untie me already? From one important troll to another, you know what it’s like when you got places to be.”

“Oh absolutely. Don’t you worry, you can come down. Soon as you spend a little time communicating with the Messiahs.” He turns around and starts walking towards the door. “Things like this need real solitude. I’ll be back in a bit, motherfucker.”

You can only gape as the door shuts behind him. The lock clicks, which seems more like a final insult than security purpose. Your chest throbs.

This sure as shit ain’t your fucking timeline, mang.


	8. "Good" Is Meaningless and Nearly Useless, but "Good Boy" Is A Different Matter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Deep Throating** | **Age Play** | Quadrant Vacillation | Gags

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cronus is just perfect for age play slash mommy/daddy/lusus kink and I will not take criticism.

You refuse to be judged for your kinks, okay? If it means you get attention and pampering and someone _caring_ for you you’re into it. Unlike the other dead assholes you spend the rest of eternity being forced to exist around, you aren’t gonna moral beacon above something like this.

“Hey pretty baby, what you thinking ‘bout?”

Besides, shit like that whispered into your ear? Does something for you. A big something.

You’re sitting in Marvus’ lap like he’s your loving lusus, leaning against his broad and strong chest while he holds you around the waist. He nips at your fin and you chirp.

Listen you aren’t quite sure how this guy is in the dream bubbles—he’s from Alternia and not even during the time when your dancestors entered the game—but you’re not one to question the rare good luck. If a hot troll wants to seek you out for company (and so much good sex!) then hey, why stand in his way? Even if he is a clown. Way less terrifying the the clown you’re used to.

Because right now you’re pretending to be a wiggler able to say few words, you trill and turn back to smile at him. He returns it and kisses the corner of your mouth. Your fins _dance_.

“Sounds like you a happy brother. Dat right, baby?” You trill again, louder than before. “Hell yeah, little buddy. Daddy loves making you happy. Gonna let me try and make you even happier?”

You nod so fast your head might fall off. He grins wide and ruffles your hair between your horns.

As a hand reaches down between your legs he kisses you again, tongue pushing your lips apart while his fingers do the same to your thighs. You don’t resist either one. Marvus kisses you deep. You sigh and melt against him. Then you trill as he massages your bone bulge through your pants.

He kisses and teases you until your bulge spills out. Then he unzips your pants and snakes his fingers into your quickly staining underwear. His touch is so _gentle_. You know this guy is strong, but he isn’t rough with you unless you specifically ask for it. He doesn’t want to _hurt_ you, and that’s so foreign you can hardly handle it.

“Damn baby, let daddy really get at dat hot bulge, yeah? Want me to suck you down good, baby?”

Without hesitation you trill, earning a wide grin and another kiss on the corner of your mouth before he’s moving you around. Effortlessly you should add. He lays you down on the memory of a beach, slowly pulls your pants off while he kisses along your body. When he reaches your bulge he just takes it all into his mouth in one go like a fucking champ.

Marvus knows what the fuck he’s doing, and he does it well. He doesn’t even gag or seem to mind when your bulge tickles the back of his throat. Just sucks it harder, tongue matching it undulation for undulation.

Your head falls back against the warm sand. You keen, hips bucking. He grabs them and presses them further up, making sure he’s taking as much of you as he possibly can.

Fuck this feels so good. You dig your fingers into the sand, head falling to the side as you pant and trill. Your fins haven’t been still since he got you on your back. They flare out in overstimulation as he _swallows_ , and if your eyes weren’t closed they’d roll to the back of your head.

You crack your eyes open after a bit and glance down. Fuck, he’s just _watching_ you. He tosses you a wink and you gulp. Then Marvus slowly pulls back before swallowing you back in. He keeps doing that, picking up speed each time, and it’s enough to push you over the edge. You pail hard, filling his mouth with slurry enough for a full bucket on your own—Marvus just swallows it down like water.

When he pulls back, letting your bulge retreat to its sheathe, slurry drips down his chin. You hardly have time to notice it before he’s licking you clean, holding your hips steady when you start squirming.

Finally he crawls up, hovering over you and smiling. You prop yourself up to lick that line of slurry up to his lips before kissing him. He opens his mouth, lets you taste yourself mingling with him.

His arms wrap around you again and you melt into his strong arms as he turns you onto your side, laying down beside you.

“Hellz yeah, baby. You taste so fucking good, a brother can’t help getting all into it. Tasting every drop. You feel me?”

You chirp. He kisses your forehead, smoothed back some hair that had fallen in your face. Then he pulls you to his chest, stroking along your sides idly. You sigh and nestle against him.


	9. Wrap Me Up In Silly String

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream Bubble Sex | **Full Body Restraints** | Massaging | **Sprites**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A pairing no one expected, yet we should have all accepted by now.

“Hoo hoo hoo! Now aren’t you a tasty sight.”

Ain’t a motherfucking question. Your hot mama’s got a real hankering for clown, and in her eyes you’re a prime slab of steak.

“I could just eat you up. And I might! If you behave for me.”

“Fuck yeah,” you reply with an easy grin. She rewards you with a pat between your horns.

She starts floating around your body all slow like, getting her appreciation on of your fine form. You’re on motherfucking display for her like a pail doll just waiting for attention. Can move just about as much as one, too. Gangly arms bent behind your back and strapped together, spreader bar latched at your ankles, a collar around your neck attached to straps around your chest so you can’t really move your head. Even your bulge is all tied up, wrapped around a curler. Snug as a bug in a motherfucking rug.

You ain’t quite sure why the fuck she bothering with a dumbass clown like you. She’s a real funny one, mirthful as any clown, more worthy than most motherfuckers. Likes herself some good ole japes and tomfoolery, and ain’t that just beautiful? Your pusher pumps so hard when she’s around. It’s like a fucking maraca right now.

She floats closer, long ethereal tail stroking your bare skin. Brushes against your grubscars and you squirm as much as you can all tied up.

“Oh my, dear, are you ticklish?”

She grins devilishly. Your gut flips. This old ninjette does something to a motherfucker you can’t explain and ain’t inclined to question.

Slowly that wicked tail runs up and down your sides, traces your grubscars. You try to hold strong but a motherfucker can’t work that miracle. You laugh and shake, and it fills your hot mama with sure mirth. That shit is always so good to see, not that you can see much with tears all up in your oculars from laughing so hard. Merciless as mirthful, your hot mama is.

Finally, once she’s done had enough of this kinda fun, she pulls back and lets you catch your breath.

“Aren’t you just delightful like this. Absolutely adorable as a kitten tangled in yarn. Tell me, Gamzee dear, would you like to taste Nanna’s pie?”

“Fuck yeah, I want some of that righteous fucking shit, sister.”

She lets out a delighted laugh before pulling out an actual sprite pie and slamming it right in your face. Mm, fucking cherry pie. Good shit. The tin slides off your face and softly thuds against the carpet. About half those tasty motherfucking contents cling to your face, and you get to licking what you can. Nanna helps out, a finger scooping up some of that cherry and popping it into your mouth. You make sure to lick it all clean, get every motherfucking morsel up on your tastesponge.

“Such a good big for me, Gamzee! Eat up all your dessert and Nanna will give you a big reward.”

Ain’t no fucking problem there. She keeps pushing food into your gob and you swallow it all down like it’s holy fucking communion.

“My, such a hearty appetite. It’s so nice to see a youth who can eat so well. Is it good?”

You trill around your mouthful—pie and fingers both. Her face just lights up and your hot mama’s free hand pats your cheek.

“Sweet boy. Just a little more then Nanna will give you something really good.”

No hard task for you. A motherfucker is used to eating whole pies by your lonesome; sure you were high as fuck so you coulda eaten a whole goddamn bakery, but she only feeding you what’s on your face. Gotta admit though by the time she shovels the last of it into your mouth you’re starting to feel full. Lap up that final bite with relief.

“Good boy. I certainly believe you’ve earned your reward!”

“Bitchtits.”

With a laugh she boops your nose before her hand trails down to your bulge. Carefully, going all painfully slow and dragging this shit out, she unravels your bulge. Goddamn, it hardly knows what to do with a little freedom! Doesn’t get the chance to do much but wiggle around and stretch out ‘fore her tail gets its wrap around on. You groan as she squeezes, her tepid sprite temp stark on such a sensitive part of a motherfucker.

“My, now doesn’t this feel good? Hoo hoo hoo!”

“Fucking, motherfucking bitchtits, sister, a clown fool don’t deserve it.”

“Of course you do, dear, and don’t you try to say otherwise.” She pinches your cheek. “Nanna knows how good a boy you can be, and good boys deserve to pail.”

Your pusher and gut both somersault like they got a two person synchronized act going on. Ain’t no way to argue with her so a motherfucker wisely don’t.

Her tail takes its time pumping from shaft to tip. It keeps coiling around like some snake just making itself at home. Ain’t a thing you can do but chirr in delight and let her do her thing. A motherfucker got no complaints.

She keeps on like this, occasionally brushing back your wild mane or running fingers through it to scratch at your hornbeds. Keeps on praising you, too, and a ninja can’t last too fucking long, not when shit feels so _good_. Your thighs shake as you pail, coating her sprite tail; hot mama just smiles and helps hold you up.

“Well that certainly seemed like you enjoyed yourself. Hoo hoo hoo!”

You chirp, noisebox apparently on the motherfucking fritz momentarily as you catch your breath.

Nanna brushes her tepid lips against your temple and asks, “Would you like me to continue, dear? This old bag of code still has plenty of energy in her yet.”

You nod as adamant as you possibly can, perking up as her tail unwinds from your bulge only for the tip to slide against your nook lips all leisurely like.

“Such a sweetheart. Gamzee, let’s see how long it takes before you fall over. How does that sound?”

“Fucking righteous.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've contributed something this fandom was sorely lacking this time.


	10. Don't a Motherfucker Toiling Tirelessly Deserve a Little Break?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two (Or More) Doms One Sub | **Sensory Deprivation** | Gillplay | **Horrorterrors**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am genuinely surprised there's been no horrorterrors/Gamzee before this. I'm just filling a lot of zeros this kinktober.

It’s a motherfucking spectacle of the highest order in front of your ganderbulbs. Ain’t no motherfucker—heretic, blasphemer, righteous ninja, or otherwise—has been honored all like how you are being right now.

You are floating in Paradox Space, watching the writhing of the horrorterrors themselves as they stroke your hair, your horns, get all up in a clown’s business. They’d brought you here themselves, a reward doing what you do so well. Figured you needed a break from all the shit you been going through to keep this business moving along like it needs to be. A motherfucker ain’t complaining, that’s for damn sure. Just that. Well, you ain’t all used to attention like this, to anyone really wanting you around for long. Not many people ever really liked you before you saw past the narrative; now all you got is Calibro, and he ain’t touching you with half a dozen tentacles at once while gazing up at you with something like adoration.

It’s a little overwhelming.

They all must sense this as tentacles pull you closer, bring you near a beak. It caws at you, and though it’s in some ancient language you still understand: they all asking if you wanna lose your senses. Give you less to concentrate on. Why the hell not?

Suddenly the darkness around you takes over your oculars so you can’t even see them. A second later it’s like your auditory clots done decide to just quit, no fucking two weeks notice or nothing. No more bubbling speech, no more gnashing of ancient and exhausted maws, no more gurgling or gasping or glubbing.

For a second you’re free floating, not a single tentacle or twisted appendage touching you. A motherfucker can’t tell if it’s lonely or freeing. A miracle either way.

They all let you adjust for a hot minute. Actually you got no idea for how long, but for however long it is it’s almost like you’re by your lonesome once a-fucking-gain. You and your thoughts all suddenly screaming in your pan, the sadness you done always had to drown out with pie. Just as that gets to be be unbearable, a tentacle curls around your ankle.

It ain’t a tight hold, more like one of them is trying to reassure you that you ain’t all alone. You’re _surrounded_ , and each one wants you to be there. You know this deep in your pusher, and some of that deep deep loneliness starts to recede.

In contrast to those tentacles that start creeping up your body. You shiver as they slide under clothing, start pushing and pulling it all off. They move you around like a puppet but you feel more adored than used. A motherfucking beloved thing.

When you’re bare as a newly hatched grub those appendages really start exploring. All you have is the sensation of touch, and you experience that miracle all motherfucking over. A touch on your side makes you shiver, a tentacle running up your back makes you arch, another brushing against your cheek makes you keen. They all the fuck over you and you can’t get enough. Panting before long, bulge spilling and immediately getting stroked all slow like.

It’s a righteous fucking feeling, only being able to feel. Like there ain’t anything else you gotta worry about, every bit of concentration up on the horrorterrors touching you. Ain’t no idea where anything is unless it’s touching you, can’t hear them moving around. You can taste, though, sure e-fucking-nough, as one trails across your lips and you kiss it. Seems pleased by that, pressing against you, and you open wide so it can slither on inside.

As you suck it another tentacle parts your thighs, stroking slowly up and down and around them. Your bulge is too preoccupied to mess with this one so it’s unhindered as it traces your nook lips. You moan, encouraging it to get all up in there, but it takes its time. Rolls back and forth across your slick nook, gently parts it just to slide against you all wicked slow and tantalizing. Makes you really _feel_ the motherfucker. _Ache_ for it.

Two other tentacles are playing with your grubscars, petting and tracing all gentle like. There’s one wrapped from one horn to the other. What might be one or a dozen keep on roaming the rest of you, caressing and teasing and enjoying. Making it so not a goddamn thought is up in your pan but pleasure. Ain’t nothing to do but give into the overwhelming _feeling_ of it all and let ‘em play with you like this.

After what might be actual motherfucking sweeps finally that tentacle pokes into your nook. Wiggles its bad self in and nestles deep. You sorta groan and trill at the same time around the tentacle in your mouth. It shakes all happy. Then it starts undulated like the one in your nook, and you get lost in the sensations.

Feels fucking _good_. A ninja’s pailed before, you’re no blushing wiggler, but ain’t never been like this. You’re just along for the ride feels like, at the same time it’s almost like being cared for. Adored. It’s a righteous fucking sensation.

The tentacle pushes in deeper, actually presses against your genebladder and fuck if that ain’t weird. But it don’t feel bad. _Intense_. Definitely intense. A whole new sort of heat makes your gut flip as that tentacle pumps into you. Ain’t much longer before you can’t take it anymore and pail.

Everything’s dizzy for a minute. Pan ain’t able to keep hold of a real thought until you come back to yourself, cradled in hundreds of the horrorterrors’ appendages. You got all your senses back, but you ain’t really ready for them so you close your eyes and relax back against them. A stray tentacle pets your hair and soon enough you start nodded the fuck off, purr rumbling in your chest.


	11. Self Love Is A Holy Duty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Voyeurism** | **Selfcest** | Chastity Device | Bulge Around Horn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm surprised I didn't choose bulge around horn just because I love it so much, but I dig what I did with this.
> 
> No one should be surprised I did selfcest.

Heretics would up and call this narcissism, but they don’t _understand_. Foolish motherfuckers understand NOTHING. What’s happening here is a beautiful celebration of the Messiahs themselves. A paltry thanks for the miracle of motherfucking life and afterlife, of the task they done deemed you worthy of. You are a most blessed creature, one of the few touched by the most mirthful of masters.

You sit across from yourself. Legs bent at the side and spread. He is as bare as you, as the day life was breathed into you by the beauty of ectobiology. Slime turned to life, life turned to death, your ghosts watching each other like you’re all experiencing a real motherfucking MIRACLE.

You mirror each other, both idly stroking your own bulge. When one does something the other mimics in beautiful motherfucking symmetry like holy ritual.

There’s a flush on his cheeks peeking through his paint. Pride surges through you. You squeeze your bulge, thumb rubbing the squirming tip. No gentleness. The only difference between you two. After all, one Messiah burning in righteous rage, the other of wicked mirth. Complimentary opposites.

Slurry coats your hand. Your nook leaks into the prickly grass. Your thighs are already sticky and stained. Purple on gray is a GLORIOUS look. Motherfucking holy shade you’re spilling in the name of your LORD.

You take your hand just spread idly on the ground beside you and run it towards your nook. Of course your counterpart follows suit. Eager motherfucker dips a bony finger in first. Grinning, you do the same. Swirl it around all slow like, get a feel of yourself. Ain’t like you don’t know what your nook feels like, how and what it enjoys. A ninja ain’t no first timer that’s for damn sure. But this isn’t a fast and fucking furious affair, it is a moment that must be savored. ‘Sides, your frond tip presses up against the little flesh nugget of pleasure that sends a jolt through you.

Obvious when your mirror does the same, hips giving a jerk. Motherfucking DECADENT. Your oculars zoom in on your other self’s waist, nose flaring as you breathe in. Your lord made every self you have so motherfucking PERFECT. It ain’t fucking narcissism to appreciate your god’s careful craftsmanship.

You slip another finger inside yourself, your doppelgänger mimicking. Ain’t difficult at all, slick and ready as you are. Your nook eagerly takes in the second finger, then a third with similar ease. You stretch yourself, pumping in and out as your other hand keeps your bulge entertained. Squeeze and stroke, the occasional hard yank.

Ain’t much longer before you’re breathing heavy like a motherfucker’s lungs are more than just a memory. Your other self be doing the same and you know both of you are so _close_. You catch his eyes and he nods; this been drawn out long enough.

Both of you pick the fuck up in speed. Righteous heat spreads through your gut. Other you’s eyes go all half lidded, and it’s hard to keep your own open.

Where before you were so in synch, now your rhythms grow erratic and separate. You pull he pushes, he pumps you stroke. Shove your smallest finger in just because you can.

Still you both pail just one small moment apart. A second so quick as to be negligible. Glorious, HOLY and RIGHTEOUS purple is everywhere. A sea suddenly created in godly ecstasy.

It is a motherfucking awe-striking sight for sure. _He_ is. You are. And you know your LORD stares down at your worship spilled in his honor with pride and satisfaction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm amazed, truly this time, this is the first Kurloz/Kurloz fic.


	12. Doctorturer Doctorturer Give Me the News, I’ve Got a Bad Case of Clown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Medical Kink** | Buckets | **Impact Play** | Knotting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This pairing was bound to happen, and here it is lmao. I went out of my usual bounds with medical kink, but tis the spirit of the season. Even if October is now over whoops.

“It is motherfucking _vital_ to have regular checkups. Gotta keep yourself in good shape for the empire, motherfucker.”

  


Oh hoofness, you hadn’t realized the hour. Twenty minutes after you were supposed to meet the Grand Highblood. Usually you keep yourself prompt. Tonight, however, you’d been engulfed in your work. Or rather work thrust upon you _by_ aforementioned Grand Highblood.

  


Who now looms in the doorway of your workblock, imposing frame, well, quite imposing. You try to stutter apologies as he comes in, but he only shooshes you. He goes round to your flank, large hands rubbing up and down your arms as he stage whispers, “Good fucking thing for you this doctorturer makes hive calls. Only for special motherfuckers, ‘course.”

  


“Of horse. Thank you for taking precious time out of your busy schedule for me, sir— _Doctor_. I’m terribly sorry about my tardiness.”

  


“Pretty unprofessional of a motherfucker. Almost makes a ninja think you ain’t taking your health seriously. We all up and can’t have that, now can we?”

  


You shake your head, swallowing down questions. You’ve no idea what he has planned. You’d not known what tonight’s “check up” would entail to begin with, and now you know he will want to give you a proper reminder on the importance of showing up on time for your appointments.

  


The Grand Highblood pets your hair a few times before leading you over to your work table. He gracelessly shoves things aside, ignoring your protests; you make a note of what’s been disturbed and what’s now scattered on the ground that shouldn’t be as he bends you over a few degrees and plants your open palms on the desk. His hands then roam down to your waist where he undoes your pants and pushes them past the curve of your posterior. Your underwear follows.

  


He starts striking your rear as he lectures, “Gotta care about your health, motherfucker. Gotta learn to be on _time_. Ain’t promptness next to mirthfulness, after all?”

  


You make a sound in the affirmative, knowing you should respond but certainly not with words. Not when the Grand Highblood is talking.

  


“Now you’re a real athletic motherfucker, I fucking know that, but that ain’t meaning you can be all slacking on these check ups. Gonna make a doc think you don’t care about his valuable time.”

  


“Never,” you grunt as he slaps the curve of your rump.

  


“Then be a good patient for me, yeah motherfucker? Let your doctorturer look you over.”

  


He nips at your jaw, sharp fangs grazing skin. You shiver; it’s ludicrous how aroused you already are. This roleplay is his doing, his desires, but you must admit if only to yourself that you do find something to enjoy from all this. The mystery of what he’ll do, this extra power being wielded over you, the way it almost makes you feel cared for in a way. It’s intoxicating.

  


The Grand Highblood gives one last hearty smack before turning you around and pawing at your clothes.

  


“Let’s get these outta the way, motherfucker, so I can have a proper look at you.”

  


Of horse you oblige, helping him remove your clothing so he doesn’t tear everything off. You rather like your attire as is and abhor needing to take a trip to the tailtormentor. Which he has on numerous occasions caused you to need.

  


When you’re fully exposed he steps back and appraises you. You had tried to cover yourself modestly back in the beginning of these escapades, but you’ve learned by now its futility. You hold onto your desk, legs spread so he has a proper view.

  


“Least a motherfucker looks to be in good shape. Course I gotta get a closer look. More _intimate_.”

  


The inflection he uses makes you shiver again as he comes back close, grabbing your hips none too gently and hoisting you up on your desk. His hands roam your body, squeezing and pinching to check things like reflex and sensitivity. He even brings out his medical bag and digs in it for that little rubber hammer he hits your knees with. You can’t say you enjoy that part very much. It’s much better when he dons the stethoscope and presses the piece to your chest so he can hear your pusher. Just the realization of how clear it is pumping in his auditory clots causes it to beat faster. There’s a satisfied grin on his face that you swear must make your pusher _flip_.

  


“Hearty as a hoofbeast, motherfucker. Must help that you get rode so much.”

  


He gives you a salacious wink that sends heat all through your body. Hoofness, he’s so _lewd_.

  


There’s no time to dwell on the comment as suddenly he spreads your legs further, straining your thigh muscles, and pushes you back on the palms of your hands. You prop your heels on your drawer handles, ignoring the mild discomfort as the metal presses against your flesh. You watch as he snaps on rubber gloves.

  


The Grand Highblood forces open the lips of your nook and bends over to peer closely at it. He _hm_ ’s contemplatively as though he was a real doctorturer with real schoolfeeding. You wish it didn’t make your bulge stir so much in its sheath but, well. You must admire a troll dedicated to his roll.

  


You breathe in deeply as a gloved frond prods your nook. He does it so professionally, just another part of your check up.

  


“Well a motherfucker’s shame glands seem to be in fine order, ‘sidering how much gene slime is up in this bitch. And you ain’t even had to be stimulated.”

  


There’s praise in his voice; finally your bulge pokes out, unable to be held back. His hand without a finger knuckle deep inside you rubs your squirming tip.

  


“Energetic motherfucker, that’s good. All ready to perform its sacred motherfucking duty. Just gotta make sure it’s all looking good.”

  


Suddenly he grips it tight and yanks it out to full length. You groan, head falling back.

  


“Looks like your lil blue bitch is in pristine condition, Zahhak. Makes a doctorturer all pleased to see a valued patient taking care of himself.”

  


“I—“ you swallow thickly— “I do try.”

  


“You’re doing the empire real proud,” he chuckles, slapping your thigh. Then he’s taking something else out of his sylladex. “Now it’s time for a new test.”

  


It’s a mask. Specifically an anesthetic mask, attached to a tank. Hoofness, what is he planning now?

  


“Don’t get that look, motherfucker, I’m a trained professional.” You bite your tongue. “We’re just gonna see how good your reaction time is all fuckered up, ain’t nothing to worry about.”

  


“I feel there are numerous things to worry about, but I suppose I must defer to my doctorturer’s recommendations.”

  


The Grand Highblood looks absolutely _delighted_ , which night otherwise be endearing if you weren’t where you were right now, staring at the contraption that could be your demise. Admittedly, your bulge is curling in eager arousal. You’re not exactly proud of that, but you’re certainly not going to stop the Grand Highblood.

  


“Now just get your relax on, brother, and let me do my job.”

  


He fixes the mask around your face, covering mouth and sniff nodes both. One hand pets your hair—smearing slurry through it, you realize in horror—while the other fiddles with the tank. After a moment something comes out.

  


“Just breathe in, motherfucker, and relax.”

  


You obey. The anesthesia hits you after the count of three. Not knocking you out, this is not that type, but numbing your senses and making you feel like you’re floating. It’s surreal, to say the least. You’re aware enough still to know the Grand Highblood hasn’t left you, but when he moves he leaves a trail of fading images of himself. He talks, but you can’t understand a thing.

  


There’s a strap in his hand. Minutes later you think it might snap against your bare skin, though you don’t feel the connection itself. You can feel its this ringing in your auditory clots, however, a dull echo that goes on and on, compounding as he strikes across your body.

  


You get lost for a while. It feels like sweeps in a single moment, or like being out of time itself. Elation flows through you as you ride this high.

  


There’s a large hand on your bulge. You’re on your back now, you think, him looming above you, silhouetted against the light of a ceiling so much farther away than you remember. There’s a throbbing pressure between your thighs—your nook. He’s pressing his bulge inside of you, or already has. You feel it all through your body. You close your eyes and give in to the foreign but not unpleasant sensations, eyes half lidded as the world drifts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day I'll finish a kinktober during the actual month, I swear.


	13. Didn't Miss Leg Day When The Messiahs Were Handing Out Looks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Double Stuffed | Psionics | **Overstimulation** | **Praise Kink**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally Chahut enters the ring for some clown on clown action.

You are receiving the highest motherfucking honor there is below direct contact with a Messiah. Now you’ve always been a righteous church going ninjette, but you would never have considered yourself even close to being worthy of this—of the Grand Highblood’s attention.

A real special sort of attention you know ain’t no other troll as new to Ascension as you is getting.

“Fuck, lil sis, you feel so motherfucking _good_ ,” the Grand Highblood groans against your skin as he rubs his big face against yours. Doesn't even seem to mind when he’s more just rubbing against your low hanging horns.

His bulge undulates inside you. Barely has room to move, it’s so fucking _huge_. Really makes you feel like a wiggler, but he all praised you for taking him in. You keened higher than you ever thought your chirpbox could go.

Hand roaming down to your thigh he gives a good squeeze telling you, “Fuck, these gams are so motherfucking nice, blessed by the Messiahs them-fucking-selves. Could get fucking lost in these wicked motherfuckers.”

You don’t know what all to say so you don’t say a damn thing, just fucking bask in his motherfucking glory and praise. Ain’t ever thought yourself worthy like that, but who the fuck are you to get to arguing with a troll like this? Sure as fuck ain’t your place, so you better enjoy the place he’s done placed you instead.

Which you really, _really_ do.

He arches you back to get at your neck, grazing fangs across your neck. You shiver. A motherfucker could chomp and rip your jugular out no problem if the mirth took him that way—you’ve seen vid of him doing that same shit during church sermons. Ain’t no fear in your pusher, though. Maybe you should, but he keeps on saying how hot you are and how good you are, and you can’t do nothing but trill.

You’re getting close. His bulge is brushing against every Messiahs damned nerve in your nook and some that ain’t ever been worked up before. Your own bulge is pressed between you two, squirming against bare skin and soaking the Grand Highblood with your shared caste. Beautiful, holy purple on gray.

No way you can last much longer, and he knows it. Leans in close, running his long tongue from your jaw up to your auditory clots before groaning, “Fuck yeah, sister, I want you to pail on my bulge. Come on, show this old clown how much fun you’re having. Wanna see how pretty you are with my geneslime leaking out your motherfucking nook.”

With a chirp you bury your face in his chest and pail harder than you’ve ever pailed before. Everything is foggy for a moment as you float in righteous ecstasy. Shit. Ain’t ever felt so _good_.

He’s not stopping. Ain’t pailed yet, so he scoops you up—and who the fuck else be able to do that?—and places you on your back so he can really push into you. Embarrassing, the whine that comes up outta you, but the Grand Highblood makes you keep looking as his hips buck against you. Your nook is quickly growing sore but you grit your jaw and bear it until he pails, too, with a grunt that makes your pusher flutter, your seedflap working overtime to absorb as much slurry as it can hold.

He presses his forehead against your shoulder a moment, breath heavy and tickle your bare skin. You bask, trying to come back to your senses. Your nook _throbs_. He all starts stroking your hair and horn messily, though, and you lean into the touch with a chirr.

Almost feel like you could doze off when suddenly he’s shifting, sitting up and grabbing onto your calves, pulling you closer to him. Then he grips your hips, lifting them to his mouth where he digs right the fuck in like a Mirthgiving feast. You keen and squirm, unable to get away and not wanting to, really, even as you can’t hardly fucking stand it at all. Every nerve’s on righteous fire now, you can’t catch your breath, and your pan is all clouded over. He squeezes your thighs and calls them— _you_ —a gift from the Messiahs, and you just lay back for the ride he wants to take you on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another first, hot damn


	14. The Real Punchline is Current State of Affairs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Helmsplay/Helming** | First Time | **Clothed/Partially Clothed Sex** | Frottage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone was having too much fun, it was time for some suffering. Please tread lightly, as this is just straight up Condy and GHB raping Psii.

You know nothing but misery. You were born into misery and you always assumed you’d die miserable. But then you met _him_. All of them. Your family. You learned something you’d swear was happiness and hope.

Then this fishbitch cunt ripped you all apart, and now the misery is tenfold what you once knew. Made worse because now you know there’s no blissful death awaiting you. She won’t let you die.

“Water you thinking aboat, buoy?”

She won’t even let you wallow in self pity alone.

“Pissblood motherfucker ain’t look like he ever had an intelligent thought up in his pan.”

You’ve forgotten what peace feels like.

“Nah,” fishbitch agrees with a mocking laugh as she leans in close, running a claw tip up your arm. “But it’s adorabubble when he talks back like he’s tough.”

That big clown bastard snorts. It rings in your auditory system.

You don’t know how long existence has been like this. You purposefully don’t keep count. Hooked up to the ship, it would be simple enough to access the time down to the second, but you refuse to put yourself through that extra misery. Best not to know.

Besides, you have plenty of other things to focus on despite your best efforts, like your two visitors.

A big hand grabs the hair on the back of your head and pulls it back roughly. He sneers down at you. If you were less hopeless, less fractured, less utterly at their mercy you might spit in his face and call him a bulgemunching shitstain. You’re a living battery now, though, wires absorbed into your limbs and ports installed along your spine. All you do is stare blankly forward wherever your head is moved.

“Looks like a motherfucker is all quiet tonight, Meenah. No mirth up in these ganderbulbs.”

“Then tell him a joke, clownfish.”

“What did the Messiahs say to the mutant?” He pauses a moment like he expects a response. “Fucking nothing, because a motherfucker like that shouldn’t exist.”

They laugh like that was even clever. Such a pisspoor attempt you can’t even summon up the energy to be upset.

“Look at this pathetic bitch. All skinny and dead eyed. Fucking wires are rotting away his flesh, look. Goddamn nasty.”

“I know. Isn’t he pitiable?”

“You’re a damn mess, Meenah.”

“Yeah, but least I got good taste. Now come on, Loz, don’t be so koi. Take this bad buoy for a spin.”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

He kisses your mouth. It’s surprisingly gentle, which makes a deep sorrow burrow in your chest. You don’t kiss back, don’t close your eyes. Your vision is clouded by his wild mane.

He bites your lip but it hardly registers. You don’t react. Soon enough the ship pumps a mild pain killer through you, anyway. Gotta keep you compliant so you can keep this ship afloat.

When he pulls back and they start pawing at your emaciated torso you stare at the wall. Claws and fangs graze your skin. You blink. A cold hand gropes your grubscars that are half enveloped by the bioware crawling up your sides. Blink. A bite over your jumpsuit that pierces through the material. Another dose of pain reliever. Blink. Slimy tendrils slapping against your abdomen. Blink. Blink. You reach into the ship and release a stronger dose of pain reliever.

Fishbitch made sure that the biowires left your nook and bulges alone. Those are hers now, and she likes making use of them. Everyone is just a fucking toy to her, and unfortunately you’re her prized doll.

They’re both laughing. Either because of what they’re doing or some other nonsense attempt at a joke you aren’t sure and don’t care. You breathe deeply as two glacial bulges slither together inside your nook. They tangle around each other as they press deeper and deeper. It’s too much so quickly, especially unaroused—not that they give a shit. They can just tear you apart and she’ll sew you back together. You’re resigned to that fate.

That doesn’t change the _pain_. She’s made sure your nerves all work down there, the evil bitch, because even one small mercy is too much to ask for. And they sure as hell aren’t being gentle right now; you don’t think they know how to be.

No more medicine is being pumped into you. You do a quick check and realize she stopped them. Of course. You return to just staring straight ahead. You don’t really _see_ anything, pan floating. Part of you retreats to the ship, checking systems and installing updates. You’re hardly aware of the squirming inside of you now.

Eventually you’re filled with slurry. Your seedflap still works. It makes you nauseous as it takes in as much as it can until it’s brimming over. They take their time pulling out, and excess slurry spills out of your nook. You can feel it through the biowires if only dimly. You don’t fully return from the ship yet.

More laughter and nautical puns. If only she allowed you to shut off your senses. At least auditory processing. But then she wouldn’t be able to have as much fun.

They don’t immediately leave, kissing and nuzzling against each other. It brings back memories of watching _them_ around a campfire after a powerful sermon.

You try to release more pain relievers, as strong as the ship has, but you’re still denied access. You retreat as much into the ship as you can, running another system check.

Things like peace, hive, family were never meant for the likes of you. Living batteries are born to serve the Empire. Suffering and serving are in your code.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much GHB in a row. I swear next one is a different clown. Well, kinda.


	15. Mirthful Cycle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Godtier Resurrection Death Play** | Rimming | Fucking Machines | Punishment/Discipline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's got some consent issues, so forewarning. Choking, death play, and of course Kurloz.

“Vwhoa, vwhoa, vwhoa, hold on a second there, chief. Givwe a guy a chance to—“

Kurloz doesn’t listen to you—which you hadn’t actually expected, but still needed to attempt at least so it would be clear where you stand—and lunges forward. He grabs you around the neck with both hands, grin on his face only widening as he chokes the life from you. Your vision fades, eyes filling with tears, and soon enough there’s just darkness.

When Paradox Space brings you back—because nothing about this was heroic or justified—you sputter and glare over at that fucking clown. He’s sitting beside your body crossed leg and still fucking grinning, the prick.

“You’re an absolute bulge, Makara.”

As you sit up, rubbing your poor neck, you notice the fresh purple slurry on your godtier pants. Fucker! You haven’t even pailed once yet and this is his second time.

“Okay, you had your little fun. My turn.”

He reaches out and you automatically flinch back, but all he does is pet your cheek. Much more like it. You lean into his palm with a little chirp.

He pulls you into his lap, and you toss a knee on either side of his puffy pantaloons. His hands start roaming across your body, caressing and lightly groping as he nuzzles his cheek against your neck. Now this is the attention you were looking for when he approached you. Of course you’ll take any attention you can get, but it’s nice to have something a little more gentle. Especially since all that dying can really do a number on a guy. Like sure you heal good as new every time, but it kinda makes you feel disposable. Even if you do come back.

Maybe you’re just being sensitive. You probably just need to pail already.

Kurloz pushes his hands down your pants to paw at your ass. Then he gets a good hold and starts gyrating you on his open crotch. It’s not long before you feel his bulge coming back to life, so to speak, squirming against the material of your pants. Going godtier really ups the stamina you’ve learned.

Suddenly chucklevoodoos fill your pan. Nothing too creepy, just so he can project his voice. Still you shiver as his words resonate in your auditory clots.

“You wang to pail, pretty motherfucker?”

“You knowv I do.”

There might be the edge of a whine in your voice but you don’t care. Your bulge is trying to break free to meet his, and you decide to help it out. Hooking a finger in your waistband, you yank your pants down around your thighs. Your bulge springs out, and Kurloz’s quickly finds it. They twine together. You fucking _groan_.

One of his hands leaves your ass, pushing up to grab hold of a horn. Tilts it to the side so your head will follow and he can rub against your neck. You trill, eyes fluttering shut.

Now this is good. You keep on grinding against him while he touches you like this. You don’t even mind that makeup is getting smeared across your skin. A small price to pay, you figure, for what already feels like it’s gonna be a great orgasm.

It keeps building up and up, and your trill deepens. Kurloz pushes you flush against him and bucks up, hips jerking rapidly and erratically. You scramble for a good grip on his downed hood as you get ready to pail, thighs and nook quivering.

Then there’s a hand cutting off your breathing again. Your eyes shoot open but he took you by surprise and you can’t throw him off. He keeps bouncing you in his lap as the pressure on your neck increases, until again your vision is fading. You pail right as darkness overtakes you.

You come back to life _pissed_.

It gives way to confusion as you try to take in what’s happening now. He's moved you around while you were out. You’re on your back, arms above your head and held by the wrists—feels like he’s tied his hood around them. Kurloz is on top of you, bulge buried in your nook and going to town. Fuck, okay, this you like. Your nerves might be a little raw both from pailing and reviving, but it feels damn good. The growl that was rumbling in your chest turns to a purr as you settle back and enjoy it. You’ll have words about his bullshit later.

You start getting close again but before round two hits he spills in your nook. He sags, chest heaving as he catches his breath. You give him exactly a minute before complaining.

“Come on, chief, don’t leavwe me hanging here. I’m close.”

You grins down at you, straining his stitches and looking like a fucking creep. Again his ‘voodoos echo in your pan.

“Wanna feel wicked fucking mirthful, fish brother?”

“Uh, sure?”

He snakes a hand between you two to replace his bulge with a couple of fingers. Starts curling them and you keen, head falling back. You squirm as he pumps in and out, changing up speed to keep you on edge for a bit. Makes you beg for him to let you pail, and the bastard doesn’t give in until his bulge creeps back to arousal, slithering in around his fingers.

Finally he picks a good, steady pace, and you feel your orgasm mounting. You’re letting out litany of curses and more begging, because you know that’s what the asshole enjoys. Sadist. Gets you what you want, though.

As you pail and a blissful haze settles over you, you feel something sliding up your chest underneath your top. It takes you a minute to realize it’s metal. And _sharp_.

Next thing you know he jabs it right where your fucking pumpbiscuit is. You gag on blood, eyes shooting open to look at that hideous fucking grin—the last thing you see before once again you taste death, followed by revival. You really hope that clock doesn’t deem this justified at this point.


	16. A Clown and a Rainbow Drinker  Walk Into a Bar (The Bar is a Nook)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Hair Pulling** | **Blood Play** | Wax | **Faygo**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally some queer ladies enjoying each other. I just feel like these two could have an interesting and fun dynamic. :shrug:

Her hand tangles in your hair and yanks your head back. Chahut kisses along your jaw, speaking against your skin. Her breath, unlike the rest of her, is so hot.

“Your little jade is looking for attention again.”

Your bulge is, in fact, coiling around your groin. It’s been not even a full hour but you’re ready to go again. You like to think it’s just because you’re a rather sexual person in a particularly sexual mood, and that it has nothing to do with how loathsomely attractive your companion is.

There’s a hand caressing your hip now as she keeps kissing from jaw to neck. You don’t give her better access. As nice as your earlier orgasm was, she hasn’t yet earned you making this easy for her.

“Mm, I suppose it has. Don’t act like your little juggler hasn’t reared back out.”

“I ain’t, no worries there, rainbow drinker.”

“You’re impeding my way to the nutritionblock, you know. I’m quite parched.”

“I got something you can drink.”

Another clown would get you on your knees and present their nook. Chahut pulls back and teases you with an easy shot at her bared neck. _Fuck_. It’s tempting to lurch forward and sink your fangs into her flesh. You don’t trust her, though. It’s an obvious trap. If she were blissed out and trilling for you, perhaps. But the pailing high has since worn off.

Instead of taking the bait you pap her cheek, earning you an indignant scowl, and say, “Maybe later.” Then you slip out of the room before she can stop you again.

It’s your hive so you have no problem grabbing what you want from the hunger trunk. Of course, if you had been in her hive you would take your time, get into everything and help yourself to her finest drinks. As it is, you plan on being a most excellent host.

When you return to your respiteblock Chahut is lounging on your concupiscent platform. She takes up a good chunk, and you must admit she’s a sight to behold. Large, thick, thighs that could crush your head. What can you say? You’re weak for a strong woman. The way she ignites your ire so beautifully just cinches this kismessitude.

You lean against the doorway, holding up a bottle of Moon Mist Faygo and watching as her eyes light up.

“Well look at that. Damn, Maryam, you know how to treat a lady.”

“I also know how to treat a brute,” you return as you saunter over to the platform, making sure your hips sway in the way you know always draws her gaze.

You hop up on the platform and open the bottle, helping yourself to the first taste. You’re aware of her eyes on you as you swallow, making a show of it. Clowns appreciate good performances, after all.

Finally you pull the bottle back with a satisfied sound before handing it to Chahut. It’s your turn to admire her as she takes a drink.

“Have the rest, I’ve got more.”

As she drinks deeper you lean against her thighs. Idly you reach out for her bulge, encouraging it to twist around your fingers. She shifts so you’ve got better access to it, and you smile.

“Look like you got something rolling around that pan of yours, pretty thing.”

“Mm, just admiring you, Chahut.”

“Aww, ain’t that sweet. I don’t trust it.”

“You shouldn’t.”

You flash her a smile that’s all fang before crawling up to kiss her. Chahut’s hand settles on your hip, thumb stroking. You drag claws up her chest then neck, sliding up into her hair and tangling your fingers in her mane.

Her bulge, not thrilled at being suddenly ignored, slides against your nook and you moan. It wants to plunge right on in, but the angle isn’t in its favor and it can only go so far, so the poor thing has to make do with teasing your nook lips. That impatient little thing can wait. You have other things in mind.

Like suddenly yanking with all your might on the hand in Chahut’s hair, so you have full access to her neck. Quickly before she has a chance to react you sink your teeth into her flesh, drinking up her blood. With a groan she bucks up, almost instantly submitting to you. Chahut put up a much better fight earlier; she has a habit of once you’ve broken through with her of giving in so much easier, like a barkbeast that really only wants its belly rubbed. You're sure you could rile her up again, but you don’t mind this one bit.

As you lap at her neck you unravel her hair from your fingers and move it down to a rumble sphere, massaging. Your other runs along one of her low horns, stroking in a way you know sends calming waves through her. She keens. It makes fresh arousal flip through your lower gut.

Finally you pull back, tongue licking the corner of your lip where purple blood clings. You make a show of sighing in satisfaction. Through half lidded eyes Chahut watches you.

Her bulge keeps trying to push into you, picking up in excitement. You breathe in deeply as your thighs tremble. You readjust, kneeling above her bulge and grabbing it before it can help itself. It squirms in your hold but you only squeeze tighter.

“Would you like to fuck me, Chahut?”

“About as much as you want me to fuck you, rainbow drinker.”

Your mouth quirks upwards. With your free hand you reach out, dragging nails across her chest. She hisses, back arching and legs squirming. You let your smile grow with just a bit of maliciousness and lower down on her bulge. Your groans mingle together.

Chahut grabs onto your hips. Her fingers dig into you and you return the favor by clawing at the space between rumble spheres, just deep enough for pinpricks of purple to ooze out. You lean down and lap them up like a thirsty meowbeast.

“Fuck, Maryam.”

There’s just a hint of growl to her voice, belied by the way her eyes roll back, hips jerking up against you.

She starts bouncing you, bulge undulating wildly inside your nook. You keep clawing and nipping at her skin, dragging your tongue against your marks to enjoy every spilt drop of blood.

You gorge yourself. It’s not even a matter of needing the nourishment—you just enjoy draining her. Not enough to kill her, of course, but certainly enough to make her lightheaded and you flush with the rush of blood through your system.

Her movements get more and more erratic. You clench your nook, wrapping a tight hand in her wild mane again. She’s close, as you are, but you know you’ll have to do most of the work now. You sit up, letting a thin trail of blood drip down your chin. With one hand you grope her rumble spheres messily and roughly, making sure to knick her nipples with your claws. You use your other to reach into your sylladex for another bottle of Faygo which you unscrew and pour over her chest before holding it to her mouth. She drinks up, casting a smirk over at you.

It doesn’t take much more to get her to pail, and then you hold her bulge so it won’t ty retreating yet as you pump your own. You splatter slurry across Chahut’s chest and stomach, a bit going so far as her neck and even some drops on her jaw. Hm. You don’t envy her having to clean that out of her wounds. Whoops.

Finally you release her bulge and lay down beside her, both of you breathless. The empty Faygo bottle rolls to your floor with a soft thud.

In a few minutes Chahut will grouse about the state you’ve put her in, and you’ll assure her how beautiful she looks covered in your dental records and genematerial. For now, you bask in the afterglow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are so many flavors of Faygo :O


	17. Safe and Sound in Culling Arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Intercrural Sex | **Beforus** | **Pampering** | In Space

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay time for creepy culling practices!

Your kitty bitch is a gift from the Lord himself, and deserves the proper motherfucking treatment to reflect that. Which you gladly give.

She sits on only the finest of piles full of silks and soft pillows, with expensive plushies scattered throughout. You enjoy hand feeding your kitten all sorts of treats—anything her pusher desires. Ain’t no cheap nip coming up in here, either. Your miracle smokes only the good kush, shit that’ll make you feel each of your teeth individually and ruminate on Paradox Space its motherfucking self. You value your goddamn matesprit.

You’re a damn good culler.

Ain’t necessarily something you wanted to do when you were a wiggler, but that’s the way of high bloods, clowns especially. Gotta take care of these warmer hues ‘cause they can’t all take care of themselves. Look at your girl. Fucking furocious, that’s for damn sure, but you don’t want nothing happening to your sugarspheres. She’s too feisty for her own good sometimes. Nah, better to just keep her up in your hive, take care of her every need while she works on fics. Unless your Messiah tells you otherwise, this is how it all should motherfucking be.

Right now your wicked kitten is stretching atop your pile. Her sweater rides up, showing off a sliver of pristine gray skin. An enticing sight. You can’t help yourself from climbing beside her, running a finger along that bare tease. She shivers and gives you a smile that could light up the darkest nights.

“Purrloz! I didn’t know mew were back pawlready.”

“Just got in, kitten. Brought you something fucking good.”

You whip out a little container of assorted fruits to the glee of your matesprit who lets out a delighted squeal. When she reaches for one you gently block her hand and move it back before picking up a piece of cantaloupe and holding it up to her mouth. She readily opens up for you.

“Mm, this is delicious. Thank mew, Purrloz.”

You just smile and ready another piece, honeydew this time. She takes it like before, and takes your fingers too, sucking the fruit from your hold. Damn your kitty bitch is something else. Makes your nether regions tingle.

After she’s chewed up that honeydew she licks all the juices from your fingers. Goddamn _wicked_. Then she opens her mouth wide and you put more melon on her tongue.

Your free hand slips up her skirt, pulls her panties to one side, and wiggles a finger up her nook. She keens.

“Like that shit, pretty kitty?”

She nods and opens her mouth. You gladly feed her another piece, watching the joy as she chews. Juice dribbles down her chin and you lean over, drag your tongue along it before stopping at her mouth for a proper motherfucking kiss. She’s all softness and curves and you can’t get enough.

You press another finger into her nook without warning and she moans, eyes falling shut. Such a beautiful fucking sight. Wanna make this chica of yours squirm and mewl, wanna lavish her with all the attention she can motherfucking handle. Ain’t no reason to hold back, either, not when she’s all into this.

You set the fruit aside and carefully pull Meulin into your lap, turn her around so her back is pressed against your chest. Start kissing her neck and popping more fruit into her mouth as you pump slowly inside her nook. Her back arches and she purrs, eating up this treatment.

“You just all up and relax, sweet thing, while your clown shows you a motherfucking righteous time.”

“Sounds like a purrfect idea.”

So you do your kitty bitch’s will, tease her nook, let her bulge rub itself all over your arm, kissing her pretty neck and face, all the while making sure to feed her bits of fruit. She purrs and keens and makes such righteous fucking sounds that fill your auditory clots and pump biscuit both. Her sounds swell into a beautiful crescendo as she pails. Your kitten sags back against you with a satisfied sigh that gets your bulge wiggling just as much as the other sounds that been coming outta her. She nuzzles your cheeks together, and you press another piece of fruit to her lush lips. Kiss her again all soft like when she opens up for it.

As she chews and revels in the bliss of a good pailing, you send a silent thanks up to your always listening Lord. He sent you this sweet miracle and you will do right by her in His name, until He lets you know how this universe of yours is helpful to His plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any time Meulin realizes she's being culled Kurloz just uses chucklevoodoos on her.


	18. The Lost Boy and a Clown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirrors | Xenophilia | **Flarping** | **Choking**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I love GHB being a fucking bottom and a pain slut.

It may not look like you know what you’re doing but listen, you’re on top of things.

Well, okay. Right now you’re under a clown, but metaphorically you’re on top.

You are Rufioh Nitram, an up and coming cavelreaper General—and secretly brewing a revolution the likes of which have never been seen on Alternia before, not even from The Sufferer himself.

Also you’re in a kismessitude with the Grand Highblood. It’s not real though! At least not on your end. You started pitch flirting with him one day during a report with the hopes of getting close to him and finding out things that could help with your plans. Instead of bashing your head in, he'd actually taken the bait!

The few of your most trusted trolls who know what you’re doing think you’re crazy and suicidal. Which sure, but you have to be at least a little unhinged to start a revolution or else why not stay stuck as a cog in this fucked up system?

For the record this has gotten you something besides laid. It’s a little surprising how unguarded empire secrets are, but after spending all this time with higher ups like Makara you’ve realized something: if highbloods aren’t complete idiots, they’re just too stuck up to view warmer hues as any sort of threat. All the better for you, really. You _will_ do what the Sufferer could not, by taking that step he refused.

Speaking of steps, you should pay attention to the booted foot on your chest.

“Aight, Bascoh, looks like this is the end for you. Ain’t no other of your little posse around to save you this time from my righteous fucking wrath.”

You just stare up at him with a cocked grin like you don’t have a care in the world.

“What’s wrong, motherfucker? Meowbeast got your traitorous tongue?”

“Eh, I’m just waiting for you to tire yourself out, sugargrub. All wigglers do eventually, right?”

Makara grins down at you with a malicious fire in his eyes as his boot presses heavier on your exoskeleton. You can’t deny that this does something for you. You used to flarp as a kid, but it’s way different when you know there’s the prospect of pailing involved. Especially with the added espionage.

Your characters are both incredibly rich with lore, but at the heart of it you’re the leader of a little band of merry trolls who disregard the empire’s rules while he’s a lawmerc hellbent on bringing you down. Right now it seems like he’s got the upper hand, maybe, but you’re known for getting out of tougher binds than this.

In fact, you think you see an opening.

Makara looms over you. You just gotta distract him a little, which isn’t that hard. He thinks you’re a pretty funny motherfucker and likes your tenacity. So you give him a little of that razzle dazzle with a coy comment, suave wink. Some _oh officer isn’t there anything else you’d rather do with me?_

Like the cocky clown he is Makara leans in real close. When there’s just a single breath between your lips you suddenly reach out and grab one of his horns, yanking his head quickly to the side before ramming your forehead against his. It sends him off balance and he staggers back. While he tries to recover you quickly sit up and whip your pounding head to the side, smashing a horn against his giant frame and sending him crashing to the ground. In an instant you’re on top of him with your hands around his neck.

You squeeze pretty hard. He’s got a thick neck, after all. Makara scrambles to get a beefy hand around your wrist but he’s losing oxygen fast. And you know from experience he’s not gonna try _too_ hard to make you stop; clowns aren’t ones to stand in the way of their own pleasure, you know. Kind of admire them for that.

When his grip slackens, eyelids fluttering, you let up just a little. Enough that you don’t kill him, or knock him unconscious. You like him still awake for this next part. Removing one hand, you snake it into your short shorts and pull out your bulge. Feels like it’s been trying to squirm free for hours now. You stare down at Makara, stroking yourself furiously. You might squeeze just a little harder when you feel yourself getting close, but he’ll be fine, probably.

With a grunt you finally pail, slurry splattering all across his face, hair, horns. Now _that’s_ how it should be.

Panting, you remark, “What a sight you make, doll. Well, I better be off. Got big things brewing.” You wink and hop off him, deftly tucking away your bulge so it can retreat to its sheathe. “Don’t forget to clean yourself off before your next meeting!”

He growls out your name, hacking and sputtering. Takes a swipe at you with the hand not rubbing at his neck, but you manage to easily sidestep it. With a smirk you salute and make a swift exit out the window—you can’t be accused of not putting on a good show! Makara curses your name so loud the rafters rumble. You just start whistling, feeling the documents you managed to snag this time safely tucked away in the pouch at your side.

This arrangement really is a lot more lucrative than your comrades realize.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know which of them suggested the flarping first, but they were both into it from the beginning. Clowns love performances and all Nitrams are nerds.


	19. Mastications and Miracles (and Bulgejobs)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Moirails Who Pail** | Tickling | **Food/Feeding** | Cuddlefucking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slowly but surely I'm finishing these lmao.
> 
> Also there have been several comments I've yet to reply to, whoops! I've been pretty busy but I read and appreciate each and every one! <3

You’ve got the best motherfucker around in your diamond. Ain’t no fucking doubt about that. You never really been the kind to take care of his own personal needs like hygiene or getting your remember on to eat. You’ve sustained yourself on pies and Faygo and certainly nothing healthy for so long as you been alive. A miracle you made it to adulthood, really. Bigger miracle he puts up with you.

“Hey hey hey, why the fuck do I not hear the sounds of your mastications upon the food I so lovingly crafted for your ungrateful ass?”

“A ninja just got lost in his thoughts, most beloved, ain’t nothing to worry about.”

Karbro pops out of the kitchen so fast his adorable as fuck crab apron swishes around. Even though he’s scowling you just stare at him in utter devotion, aware of the grin eating your face.

“How dare you lie to me and act like you’ve ever had a clear thought in your addled pan. Don’t make me come in there and feed you myself.”

“I would motherfucking love that, best friend.”

You pull over a chair right up against yours and pat it invitingly. Your diamond grumbles and curses but that ain’t stoping him from coming on over. Snatches the fork and stabs a piece of juicy moobeast flank, holds it up to your mouth. Happily you take it and get your chew on.

“Tastes fucking bitchtits, best beloved. Dripping with love.”

“You stupid, sappy clown.”

There’s no heat in his words but heat sure is crawling up his face. Pretty cheery red blossoms across his cheeks and you can’t resist leaning over to kiss them. He sputters and pushes you away.

“Goddamn it you nookstain on the drawers of society, cut that shit out and let me feed you in peace.”

Obediently you sit up and open your mouth again for him to shove some buttermilk roll in. Also tasty as shit, which you tell him, but all he does is chastise you for talking with your damn mouth full.

Karbro keeps on feeding you, only letting you pause to chew or take a drink of freshly squeezed sourcitrusade. He done made it himself instead of buying it, and it tastes all the motherfucking better for it.

More and more food keeps being pressed to your lips and you ain’t gonna disappoint your moirail in this regard, at least. Everything he gives you, you eat. Even when your belly starts feeling full you press forward until you got a clean plate and pleased diamond.

“Good job, Gamzee,” he praises so soft and sincere that your pusher melts. Sweet as the Messiahs’ promises. “The cake should be cooled off now. I’ll go put the icing on and get us a slice. Go get comfortable in the rumpusblock, fins a movie that’s not fucking Trollmark, I’m sick of sappy ass holiday propaganda.”

“You got it, Karbro.”

As he makes his way back to the kitchen with your dirty plates, you make your way to the loungeplank. Get your sprawl on, nestle into the well worn cushions. Turn on a pale romcom you know is one of Karbro’s favorites: A Lowblood Tired Of Routine Meets a Purple Blood in Sore Need Of Someone to Pacify and Take Care of Them But is Too Much Of a Disaster to Manage a Proper Courtship. It’s a good one. Makes you all warm and fuzzy, and ain’t a holiday movie necessarily. Got some great slam poetry in it, too.

Your pretty diamond comes in with a plate that’s got two generous slices of cake on it. Double layered, homemade buttercream decorating it. You may be sorta full but you ain’t about to turn up this treat.

Plopping down on your legs Karbro brings the fork to your mouth for the first bite. Ain’t fakery when you let out a long, appreciative groan. Nothing like your best friend’s miracle cooking. Shit is goddamn _decadent_.

You take bite after bite, your motherfucker eager to keep on stuffing you 'til you explode. He takes a few bites himself, maybe one for every four that goes in your gob, and by the end you’ve eaten damn near two whole slices. Even lick the fork clean.

“If I take another bite I might up and die, best beloved. Worth the trip to the Dark Carnival.”

He snorts, setting the plate on the coffee table. Then he runs a hand across your belly and you start purring. Gets louder as he lifts your shirt and splays out those hot hot hands of his. You squirm and trill, letting sing all sorts of delighted noises. Karbro just stares down at you, enamored.

“So fucking pitiful.”

Murmurs it almost like a prayer. Motherfucker probably wasn’t even meaning to say that out loud, but he did and you keen like being blessed by a holy mirthspewer.

“Do you really have a wiggly? You horny, reprehensible louse.”

Fond insults that only get you squirming more. Shamelessly you grin up at him.

“A motherfucker can’t help it when he’s all satisfied and being petted like this, best friend.”

“You disgusting fucking clown.” He sighs all put out like as his hand trails down to your pants that ain’t no chore to pull down. “Diamond duties are never over. You’re so damn lucky I’m a caring moirail or I’d let you take care of your own goddamn problem.”

He starts stroking your bulge with such a delicate touch it leaves your pan swirling and empty. Groaning, you arch into his touch and let him go at whatever pace he all is in the mood for. Karbro raises the volume when you get louder, all trilling and keening and whimpering. Even though he’s up in the focus zone on the movie, his face is all soft and tender and shit, and you know he’s loving every sound being milked from you.

You ain’t paying a lick of attention to the screen, ganderbulbs zoomed in on your moirail. Take in the softness of his face, the controlled wildness of his hair, the tenderness he all motherfucking oozes like a wound in your pusher. Feels so damn good when you pail, getting slurry all over his hand. He just wipes it off on your pants and admonishes you that now y’all gonna have to get in the bath. Soon as the movie’s over, of course. Until then he just strokes your thigh and belly while you drift off a little, purring.

You up and know a motherfucker like you don’t deserve no one like your beloved diamond, but you’re sure as hell glad you got him anyway.


	20. Let the Clown Times Roll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Sex For The Messiahs** | Bondage | **Bruises Or Other Marks** | Blindfolds/Restricted Sight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hm I guess this doesn't so much count as sex for the messiahs as just they fuck in a clown church (clurch)

This sweet thing before you really knows how to harsh your mellow. Here she is all accusing you of not being a true believer, yadda yadda yadda. Just more of her naysaying nonsense.

Even if the bitch ain’t wrong lmao.

Still, why the fuck she gotta be bringing this up right now? You got places to be, people to dazzle, things to get up to. You’re one busy troll. Besides, ain’t this the place you don’t care much to be in for longer than needed?

“Ey sugarspheres, look at you staying behind sermon like da Messiahs’ little helper. You wanna help put things away? Clean da pews?”

That earns you a growl that goes right to your nook. Also a fist slamming against the wall right up by your head. You don’t let your easy grin falter, but damn does it do something to you.

“Stop playing, motherfucker. I’m tired of your games.”

She leans in close, straightening her usual hunch to meet your eyes with her fiery ones. They all filled with a pitch black hatred that sends coils of electricity through you.

“Aw, don’t you think I’m fun? Maybe you’re in the mood to play a little something something different.”

You waggle your eyebrows. Chahut’s scowl deepens. Your mouth can’t stay shut.

“You’re a pretty motherfucker when ya angry, lol.”

She rumbles with the force of her growl. Okay you can’t lie, this little number does get you all hot and bothered. It’s fun to rile her up. Hey, you’re always doing all the entertaining! ‘S nice to have someone entertain you for a change.

“Xolotl, don’t you fuck with me. I know what you are—a heretic, plain and simple. Ain’t got the Messiahs in your pusher.”

She don’t know shit, and you tell her as much with your grin. Nothing gonna satisfy her, truth or lie. But you got an idea of what’ll at least get her mind off it.

“Aw, you sure you ain’t interested in me fucking with you, sugarspheres? What about you fucking with me?”

You wiggle your eyebrows again and she looks ‘bout ready to rip them off. A bitch just might, too.

Chahut grabs your arm, digging her fingers hard enough that even through your sleeve it feels like she’s gonna leave a bruise. She yanks you forward before slamming you back against the wall. Knocks the breath right outta ya.

“Damn, girl, ain’t subtle about your feelings, huh?”

“You’re a vile, lying blasphemer,” she says, every insult growled right in your face, ghosting across your skin. “You should be smitted by stepping foot in these hallowed halls, but for whatever reason the Messiahs ain’t deemed it worthy.” She presses closer, mouth just millimeters from your auditory clot that twitches with her next words. “Maybe they wanna work through me.”

Fuck, damn. Hard not to shiver at that. You barely manage to keep your cool, telling her, “Ain’t you a sweet talker. Don’t stop gabbing now, babe. What else you gotta say?”

“You’re a disgrace to our caste, Xolotl.”

Then she slams you back against the wall again before her sharp ass teeth press against the tender bits of your neck. There’s a spike of fear, but when she bites down it ain’t to maim. Just hurt a little. Well, a lot. But ain’t lethal like. You let your head fall back, horns scraping the cement wall, and enjoy this victory.

Chahut gropes you roughly, half trollhandling and half feeling you up. You let her have at it, just glad she’s all preoccupied now. Not that you got anything to complain about; a motherfucker likes the mean treatment every now and then.

You grab onto one of her horns while the other finds her waist and pulls her flush against you. She hisses, which is your only warning as she pulls out of your grasp and flings your ass to the floor. She’s on you in an instant, swinging at your face. You’re too pretty for that shit, though, bring an arm up to block her. Fucking _stings_. That woulda left you with a black eye, ain’t no doubt.

“Feisty morherfucker,” you snicker, the sound just adding to her ire.

You grab onto one of the legs she has thrown over your lap and toss her off. Scramble to your walking stubs as she crouches down low like an animal all ready to get its attack on.

“Shit, baby girl, you got a mean right hook. Wanna feel mine?”

She lunges at you but you been expecting that and sidestep out da way. Use her momentum against her to drop an elbow on the back of her head. Pain shoots through your arm but fucking worth it as Chahut drops to the ground with a grunt.

You don’t get to revel in that for too long as a hand shoots out, grabbing your ankle and pulling your ass down beside her. She’s a wily one that’s for sure.

The two of you scuffle a while longer, icons and images of the Messiahs silent watchers above. Clothes get torn, some get plum ripped the fuck off ya both. You make her a rumble sphere window which she don’t much appreciate but damn is it an improvement to a bland outfit.

Eventually y’all might as well be wearing nothing. Bulges are out and eager, nooks slick and needy. When Chahut gets you on your back and lifts one of your legs you only arch your hips so she can press in you. You think it might infuriate her more that you don’t protest or try to get your bulge in her instead. Only makes you wetter when she growls and bites at your shoulder lol, insults dripping from those hateful lips.

You lay back and motherfucking _enjoy_. Just bask in the glory of victory and getting pailed by someone who don’t all worship you blindly. Nah, her blind faith don’t got room for no one on this mortal realm.

This holy woman is beautiful wearing all this blossoming bruises of varying colors. She’s bloody and scratched up, scrapes on her knees and cheek and arms. There’s a bruise spreading across the right side of her jaw that might be the greatest piece of art you done ever crafted.

Chahut ain’t gentle when she fucks you. Nothing but the blackest of hatred here. Hands squeezing your hip and leg so tight you know you’ll have imprints of each finger come night. She drags fangs along bare skin, tearing any material still in her way, own hips rolling roughly against your pelvis. You’re all wrapped up in this explosion of spades, pain and pleasure all mingling together, coursing through you. You might mistake this for a miracle if’n you believed in such nonsense.

As it is, neither of you stumble outta church until the moons start rising again and you gotta blow the joint before mirthjolers start arriving for first sermon. Every movement _hurts_. Makes you feel really alive. You examine yourself as you steal away, admiring all the pretty colors she done turned your skin. Now this you _gotta_ keep going.


	21. Pail a Mile in Another's Shoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Bodyswap** | **Kismesissitude** | 69ing | **Begging**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah time for some good ole gamquius, a classic black rom, and body swapping, a classic trope.

“Highblood, _please_.”

“You’re the highblood right now, motherfucker. Best start acting like it.”

If Equibro was in his own body you know that motherfucker’d be sweating a fresh wave. As it is he just leans back on the spindly elbows propping him up and stares at you like his pan’s shorting. You grin over at him with a mouthful of broken teeth.

Fucking surreal to look over at your kismesis and see your own damn self. Body, anyway. Behind those eyes is all Equibro. These the perks you get when you know a motherfucker who done messes with the code of the universe. Solbro’s always up for a bit of that shit, and you promised to send him pictures later to sweeten the deal.

So now you’re in each other’s bodies, which is a panfuck and a half, and you dig it. Helpful, too, ‘cause you know what gets you off. You brush his knuckles against your inner thigh and watch his shudder. Hell fucking yeah. You can’t wait to wreck your kismesis in all sorts of ways.

“Well motherfucker? Ain’t you supposed to be showing me how a highblood oughta act?”

He swallows, your neck bobbing. It’s funny, watching how he moves in your body. All different than what you do. Got this expression you ain’t ever worn, all turned on but trepidatious, trying to suss out how to take charge. You’re gonna give this motherfucker a well needed schoolfedding.

“What’s the matter, _highblood_ , meowbeast done got your tastelicker?”

Your brow furrows—that shit’s gonna get confusing, maybe you oughta not think about it, but you can’t help it when you’re watching your own face scrunch up at you. Probably be more confusing to refer to your face as his, or this jagged mouth of cracked daggers yours.

“Right. You—you should be pleasing me, Makara.”

“Nah motherfucker, I’m supposed to be Zahhak tonight.”

“That is not happening. Now, Makara, you should be putting your mouth to much better use than pestering me.”

“Oh yeah? And what all you got in mind for my mouth?”

You lick his lips all seductive like. He just watches and you can tell a motherfucker’s got ideas all swirling around his pan. It’s a moment before he speaks again, and you just waggle eyebrows and idly squeeze your thighs.

“I want. I want you to—I want your mouth on my...my bulge.”

“That so? Fuck you want me to do with it?”

You’re really enjoying this. You want him to say the damn words already, give in to the debauchery he so obviously desires. Motherfucker oughta be able to say what he wants if he wants it so bad. ‘Sides, it’s just plain funny.

“I...want you to s-suck my bulge, Makara. And don’t stop until I’ve, I’ve pailed.”

“What? Just because you’re a highblood you ain’t gotta use any manners?” you tease.

He almost says _please_ , you can see the word forming on your lips, but he catches himself and levels you with an irritated look. You just grin all lackadaisically.

“Aight, motherfucker, I guess if that’s my place and the place you all up want me to be in, then that’s what I’ll motherfucking do.”

You say it all casual like, as though a ninja ain’t always up for sucking some bulge. Then you push your legs further apart, nestle this mass of muscles between them and make yourself comfortable. Don’t know how long you’re gonna be down here, after all. A motherfucker ain’t even got a wiggly yet, though you don’t think that’s gonna be an issue much longer.

With one hand you start massaging your sheath. He groans, eyelids fluttering. Humming, you try and curl his lips over the jagged mess in this mouth. You gotta be careful with these fangs ‘cause you don’t wanna shred up your bulge. You don’t mind a little pain during pailing, but stitches on your junk ain’t how you wanna spend tomorrow. Pretty sure your moirail has to put up with enough of your shit, too, don’t need to be having him deal with shredded bulge first thing in the night.

You press Equibro’s mouth to your sheath. Place kisses along it, trail your tongue along the slowly opening slit. When your bulge tip peeks out you flick it back and forth with a frond, making him groan and buck your hips. Snickering, you hold your hips steady.

After a minute you swoop down and press his mouth over your bulge. Hoover up your bulge. It slithers greedily into the heat of his mouth, and you hear the thud as he lets your head fall back. Idly you hope the motherfucker ain’t gonna damage your horns or nothing. Though it’ll kinda be your own damn fault, you suppose.

Worth it.

“Hnn, _Makara_.”

You trill, the sound vibrating around your bulge and drawing out a low, long moan. Tasty motherfucking music.

You treat your bulge right, mouthing the base all the way up to the tip, suck it all the way in and hum, let it squirm to the back of Equibro’s throat. Gonna be fucking sore in the morning but that ain’t gonna be your issue. Kinda like the thought of him having physical proof that he fucked his own mouth. Now ain’t that fucking lewd as shit?

You know he’s close. So naturally you pull back with a pop and grin over at him until he _glowers_ at you, face all flushed and chest moving quickly as he tries to catch his breath.

“ _Makara_.”

“Come on, motherfucker, don’t you wanna fuck my mouth yourself? Please? Anything you wanna do to me you can, motherfucker, just _please_ fuck my mouth until I’m drowning on your slurry.”

Fuck yeah, that does the goddamn trick. In a biscuitbeat he’s suddenly surging upward and pushing you against some snuggleplanes. Then he’s pushing your bulge in his mouth, hands around his horns. Fuck. Yeah.

Equibro fucks his mouth roughly, and ain’t nothing you gotta do but try to keep these shards of fangs from piercing your goods. You’re pretty long so it really gets in there, tickling Equibro’s tonsils. Weird ass motherfucking feeling, and you kinda think at times you might spit up all over him slash you, but you hold strong while he fucks his mouth.

Finally he pails, filling his mouth up with your slurry. Ain’t the first time you’ve tasted yourself, but first time it been this way, this much of a taste. You swallow as much as you, but still a good bit dribbles out his mouth. Bet it’s a nice fucking sight.

He trembles around you and you hold him steady, stroking your thighs. His mouth and throat gonna hurt like fuck by the time y’all switch back, and you kinda can’t wait for him to feel it. In fact, you kinda wanna see what else you can coax him to do to his own body. Make him wreck himself for a change. Hell yeah.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Either Solluxander is gonna get photos of these two fucking or some sexy clown pinups. Lucky motherfucker either way.


	22. Sea Foam Fintip to Nook Slit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cam Work | Partner Sharing | **Bulge/Nook Worship** | Carapaces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God how long has it been??? We're so close to the end I can eel it!

This is a surfprising tuna events, you know, and you love it! Your friends all think you’re crazy and tempting fate, or in Crabcakes’ case thinking with your bulge and nook. It’s not narseasism or anyfin like that, though, it’s moar like you saw an opportunaty and took it! Listen, if one of your anseastor’s closest confindants wanted to dissent why stop him?

Okay so maybe you don’t need to be pailing the Grand Highblood, but counterpoint: you want to!

Koiloz reely knows what he’s doing. None of your friends are this skilled and maybe it’s not the biggest thing to worry about, but damn it a gill’s got needs.

“Motherfucking beautiful,” your big clownfish murmurs against your bare thigh that he’s rubbing his face on. His hands cover your hips, touch so much lighter than you’d ever expect from him. His eyes are half lidded as he just _gazes_ like you’re some holy reelic. “Goddamn miracle right in my frondgrip. Just wanna take you all in, little mama, fucking _worship_ you.”

You let out a breathy laugh and tell him, “You shoald!”

“Is that a motherfucking command, my bitchtits little empress?”

Stroking his wild mane you reply, “I don’t even need to codmand you.”

“Right the fuck you are.”

With that he presses his mouth against your nook. You moan as he kisses your wet lips, laps at the slurry that’s already dribbled out from a buildup of aroushell. Takes his time opening you up with his tongue. Anemone who questions your choices wouldn’t if they cod just experience this for one night.

You’re glad they aren’t though, as shellfish as that is. Hey, if he wants another quadrant he abshoalutely can! You’re not your anseastor, after all. But you’ve gotta admit it’s nice having all this to yourshellf. Besides, most of them wouldn’t be able to properly appreseaiate this.

His tongue teases a spot deep inside of you that slaps all thoughts out of your pan for a good minute. A fresh wave of pleasure hits you and you lean back against the soft pillows he assembled for you. You sigh and keen and enjoy yourshellf.

Soon enough your bulge makes an appearance, wasting no time before tangling up in Koiloz’s hair. Just enters that jungle as brave as Searadia. He lets out a groan that reverberates through your whole body and your back arches, gasping. You don’t let up, either, as suddenly one of his huge fingers wiggles right in under that long tongue. Your eyes squeeze shut and your pan shuts off as he works you to orgasm.

It’s a tidal wave of fuchsia as you pail. It covers your thighs and his face alike, decorates his hair like a shampoo explosion. If this was the first time you’d pailed you might be a little shy, but now you’re just blissed and reely pleased.

“Gorgeous fucking miracle, my fishy sister.”

How he has breath left to talk you don’t know. All you can do is offer him a lazy chirp.

Koiloz stays down between your legs, cheek resting on a sticky thigh. Idly he paints with your slurry, covering waterver bare skin he can reach in funny little images. Lots of them are hearts. You’re not sure why this clownfish of yours is so infatuated with you, why he helped you krill your anseastor, but as far as you can tell it’s genuine. He doesn’t seem the type to keep a long charade up.

But he shore can keep a long night up!

The sun is slowly rising outside now, but he doesn’t seem to care as he readjusts to kiss along your thighs and hips in a trail that was alwaves going to lead to your nook. A fate you see no reason to change. You gladly let him lather you with attention and adoration whispered softly as the end of a murderhym, after all the blood has been spilled. (Which of course you can’t allow anymoar! But you keep him satisfied with letting him interrogash the numerous assassins after you.)

He slips a finger easily inside of you. A small sigh escapes as his frond curls around well trodden ground, swirling around and building you slowly back up. Then he drags his finger out and pops it into his mouth, savoring the slurry. Your breath hitches.

“Mm motherfucking _mm_ , little sister. Nectar of the Messiahs them fucking selves. I wanna taste every glorious goddamn _drop_.”

“Well then, go right head, shelly!”

You spread your legs even wider, ignoring the slight throb, and motion for him to help himshellf. Your eager clownfish swoops down, cupping your bass and lifting your hips as he breathes in deep the scent of your nook. He rubs his nose in it, presses his tongue to your lips and licks it clean before he dives in proper again. Occasionally he tilts his head enough to speak, all of it worship and a fealty you don’t think he ever showed to your anseastor.

You wrap fingers in his hair and around his horn, laying back and jerking your hips. He eats your nook out until it’s raw, wringing so many sounds out of you that you didn’t even know you cod make! By the end all you can do is trill and thrash around, your clownfish holding you steady so he reely can get every last drop of slurry.

When he’s done and your pan is fried calamari, he scoops you up oh so gently and settles you on his chest, arms holding you securely. He’s purring and it feels so nice you just drift off to sleep, nestling against your clownfish.


	23. Rose Lalonde's The Art of Auspiticsm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Ashen Care** | Aftercare | Partner Sharing | Mutual Masturbation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There needs to be more of these three together.

As a teenager you had no idea how to be an auspistice, how to properly mediate between these two trolls. Now, however, you are a woman with experience and knowledge. You are also sober and have your wits about you.

It also helps that the Serket playing games with them both is no longer moving pieces around a board of her own making.

Of course that has solved neither of their individual issues. Hence why they still need an auspistice. Luckily for all involved (including your exasperated and exhausted friends and wife) you were still more than willing to take it upon yourself to sort these two out.

You’ve much more refined tactics than simply yelling out for them both to stop. Discovering the powers of your feminine wiles, as they say, certainly broadened your pacifying horizons. You’ve got your ways now to deter violence while putting their energy and mutual contempt to better use.

To be crude, you mean getting them to sexually please you.

Perhaps not a traditional method from what you understand, but no one can deny the results. Less bloodshed, fewer tears, rarer instances of Karkat’s hive being trashed. When he realized how much less time he spent picking up after their messes he stopped calling you a degenerate unfit to auspitse anyone.

What you’re saying is, your methods work.

“You’re slacking, Makara. Even for you.”

“Motherfucking shut your noisehole ‘fore I do it for you.”

“Love to see you try—mostly so I can bite your bulge off.”

You know she absolutely would so you command, “Shoosh.” It silences them, but still they glare at each other. Well, they’re both turned to each other with matching scowls, though Terezi’s eyes are technically hidden. Her self imposed blindfold is shorter than it used to be, and purple—not clown colored, but the shade you’ve typed in since you first got on pesterchum. You thought it best to gift her one that wasn’t so easy to grab hold of; the color is purely for your own satisfaction.

“She done started it,” Gamzee pouts, looking over at you as Terezi just snickers.

You reach out and scratch at either’s hornbeds. They lean into your touch. Lips quirking into the ghost of a smile you assure, “I was here for that, yes. I also distinctly recall earlier when you challenged Terezi, leading us to our current state.”

He gives a shameless grin, turning to kiss your palm. Terezi in turn gives you a razor sharp grin that could rip a face off with ease and great joy. You brush knuckles across her cheek.

“Now, if you two are quite done quibbling, I believe we were in the middle of something.”

You motion towards your nether regions laid bare for their amusement. You must admit you’re in a bit of a state. No longer wearing your dress or in fact anything, your skin has been—shall we say _decorated_. You have become the canvas to test their artistic prowess. That is, they’ve been drawing on you. You had not expected this to be quite so literal a challenge but here you are. With non-blood created paint and marker ink adorning your pale flesh, intricate designs scribbled along your curves. You must admit that while unexpected, it’s not a terrible way to spend an afternoon.

Though you will say it seems to be going nowhere. They’re still bickering, after all, and art is rather subjective. You don’t foresee a clean end to this matter if things continue down this path.

“As charming as being scrawled on has been, perhaps it’s time to change the playing field.” Both have obviously had their interest piqued.

“Hehehe, got something in mind, Lalonde? I can smell the gears turning in your pan.”

“Hey, I’m down for any motherfucking thing, sister.”

“Then how about a contest that surely has an end? Show your prowess off in a different way.”

“I call her nook!” Terezi announces, scrambling to undo her pants.

Likewise, Gamzee pushes his own pair out of the way so fast they tangle around his ankles. Ah, such eager bottom leaves of yours.

You chuckle not unkindly as they undress only as much as they need to. It seems both of them have been sporting wigglies. You quirk an eyebrow that Terezi doesn’t notice yet you feel she must sense it; Gamzee wiggles his own eyebrows quite lewdly.

“I assume you both know that the victor is whoever manages to cum last—barring however should you both climax before I do. If that’s the case then you’ll just have to try again.”

You get two hums of acknowledgement as they scramble to their places. Gamzee lifts you into his lap—it sends a thrill through you, being so easily manhandled and moved around like some doll—while Terezi spreads your legs and nestled between them. Neither of them make a move after that and you can’t help rolling your eyes. It’s just nice that they can at least be on the same page for this.

“On your marks, get set, go.”

And they’re off! Or, rather, in. Really you should be admonishing them as they move you around trying to be the first to slink their bulge inside you, but frankly you’re a bit busy trying to control your breathing. It feels _incredible_ being filled by two bulges. The contrast between them only adds to it, as well. Cold versus lukewarm, chubby versus long and slender. Neither unpleasurable.

With them both buried deep and bulges thrashing, you let yourself relax back against Gamzee’s chest as they hurl jabs at each other over your shoulder. You think you might try to hold out, get them both to lose. After all, they could use a little bit of humility.


	24. There's A Lot Of Motherfucking Ways To Worship, Sing That Honkallelujah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sex Outdoors | Face Paint | Fingering | **Religion Kink Or Hierophilia**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who's ready for 700+ words of Kurloz fucking a codpiece? Yeah buddy!

In your graspers is the most wicked of holy objects that you were tasked to bring to the Righteous Motherfucker who done shares your sign. It is both soft yet firm, makes your digit tips tingle when you run them from woven base to tip, then down the other side. _Miraculous_.

You lift the codpiece to your sniffnodes and breathe in deep. Holiness fills you up. Your lungs expand as far as they can go, needing more—as much holiness as you can fill yourself up with at once—until they _burn_. Then you force yourself to keep going until you can take it no longer and and start hacking—a very awkward thing to do with a mouth all stitched the fuck up. It’s a good thing you’re a ghost so you don’t need to breathe, but still your incorporeal body remembers what it all up and needed while alive all those epochs ago. You are but a mere mortal ghost clown, trying to help the wicked motherfucker done chosen by your Lord.

You know your place. It’s a place you _adore_ just as you might adore one of your useful motherfucking quadrants. They, too, are beautiful tools. Blessed to be getting their help on with what must be done for His arrival, whether they realize it or not. (Mostly not. Otherwise you’d have to use more voodoos to up and make their memories all fuzzy again. Not that you mind, but a devoted motherfucker’s got things to do.)

Like what you’re doing now.

Admittedly this is not wholly necessary for your righteous mission. Nah, this is for you. But it’s a way to show your mirthful humbleness and devotion. Of which you are _brimming_ with, each pore excreting it.

Your bulge is pushing against your tights. Might rip a hole in them if not for your purple little shorts. Time is ticking down, and you decide not to waste any more of it. Shimmy out of those shorts quick as you can, go ahead and tear a hole for your bulge to slither out of. Not like you can’t fix it with a thought later. Or shit, might not even bother. Give yourself a little extra room next time you pop a wiggly.

Speaking of, your bulge’s all searching for something good. You press the outside of the codpiece against your bulge’s underbelly, rub it slowly up and down your length. Let out the softest of sighs. Feels so goddamn _good_. Makes you feel pure. Closer to your Lord.

Daring to wiggle your bulge inside the codpiece, you groan and close your eyes. It’s motherfucking roomy in here, could up and fit two bulges at least. Would it be blasphemous to imagine your righteous dancestor’s squirming and tangling around yours? He is your Lord’s right grasper clown, after all, while you are merely a willing player moving smaller pieces across the board. Too lowly to entangle with a high motherfucker such as him.

A clown can still fantasize.

Which you gladly fucking do. Your bulge thrashes around the codpiece while you up and let some wicked fantasies dance through your pan. Ain’t long before that sweet pleasure really builds up and since you ain’t here to tease around, you chase that motherfucking feeling. Start pumping the holy codpiece, thrusting right into it, fronds tickling the base of your bulge. You pail hard inside of it. Slurry cascades out its opening, coats the inside and covers your walkingstubs. You ain’t mind one bit.

Something washes over you. Pure bliss. Feels wickedly righteous, unlike anything else you done in His name. Perhaps your Lord is staring down upon you right now all pleased like at your personal subjugation. He understands your true devotion to the cause, admires your tenacity and dedication. He will reward you greatly as you do all you can to spread the seeds of chaos and rage against this filthy world all in His name, as He sees fit. Destroy the heretic nonbelievers and bathe in their blood, their colors paint for the new world He will craft. You will tear down all the old and withered, all the unmirthful, all the unrighteousness. You will clear the way for your glorious Lord.

First, you gotta clean out this holy motherfucking relic.


	25. Meow That's The Purrower Of Furiendship!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sex With A Ghost | Cock/Bulge Warming | Bukkake | **Heat**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I'll finish before next kinktober lmao

Mew are purrtty horny! Heat hit mew hard this time. Mew guess it’s beclaws mew’re ten swipes meow. It’s this ofurwhelming urge to purrail ofur and ofur and ofur again! It’s a furry good thing mew have such a caring meowrail who depurrsited mew in the hive of a furry willing Gamzee.

He is clawly exhausted. Mew might have been pailing on and off fur, oh, twelve hours meow! Gamzee gave mew specific purrmission to get pawsy whenefur mew need to until the heat passes. He’s such a good furiend!

And a purretty chill lay. Furry flexible. Doesn’t mind mew getting rough. Kinda likes it when mew hide in the shadows and _pounce_. He says mew’ve turned hide and cull into hide and pail, and it made mew laugh so hard. Gamzee is a funny troll.

He also looks inclawdibly tasty right meow. Mew could just slink on back over to where he’s laying peacefurlly on his concupiscent platfurm, rub claw tips across his bare skin, lean down and nip at his exposed neck...

Mew realize mew actually _have_ done those things when he turns around and gives mew a lazy grin.

“Hey, kittysis, What the fuck all is up? ‘Sides that cute as shit bulge?”

Mew do in fact have a wiggly. It’s curling around itself searching fur any sort of furiction. Mew would try to just touch it but mew know by meow it won’t help any. The only thing that can mewmentarily sate your desires is a partner. Another’s pheromones soaking the air, fureign slurry coating your skin, to see the marks mew leave behind. Nothing can compurr. Not right meow, when mew _need_ in a way mew never purreviously have.

Oh wow! Mew didn’t even realize mew were straddling Gamzee’s hips! He’s purring, hands above his head and eyes half lidded, as your bulges twine together. Mew are amazed he’s got one afurter all the pailing mew’ve already done! No wonder Equihiss dropped mew off with him. Mew are in good touchstubs.

Which mew would really like to have on you right meow. So mew reach ofur and pull them up, pressing his hands to your rumble spheres. He doesn’t need more instruction than that. Mew groan as he squeezes, presses your spheres together, moves them all around likes he’s trying to juggle them. Mew grind your hips togefur, chirring. His nook is inclawdibly slick, though mew are purretty sure it’s mostly past slurry. While your gene bladder has been purrducing much more slurry than mew efur thought it could, Gamzee isn’t in heat so all his slurry was spilled a while back. He’s gotta be sore, but doesn’t seem to mind one bit.

Mew keep grinding your bulges togefur, claws digging into his already marked up chest. He groans and it spurs you on, hips mewving faster and faster until mew pail hard. Slurry splatters across his pelvis and mew slump furward, breathless. Mew can’t help admiring how he looks, cofured in olive and purracticlawlly mauled. It makes mew wanna, well—

“ _Fuck_ , kittysis,” Gamzee groans as your still unsheathed bulge wiggles into his nook, peeking up at mew.

“Mew alright, Gamzee?”

“I’m good, motherfucker, no reason to stop. You just go on and help yourself.”

“Okay! Let me know if mew need to rest.”

He makes a vague gesture befur tucking his hands behind his head and getting cozy while mew do, in furact, help yourself.


End file.
